Treachery
by Calathiel of Mirkwood
Summary: AU It's 1776. A war is brewing in the Americas and Will and Elizabeth, however unwillingly, will be caught up in the vengeful tide of deception, greed, and power. Can they hold true to each other or will this storm be strong enough to tear them apart?
1. Foreign Rebellion

Almost two years ago, we, the fans of PotC, were introduced to Davy Jones and his fishy lot. Despite their success and the fact that I own all three movies, I decided that they needed to be 're-done'. Hence, Treachery was born. So, strap yourselves in and hang on for a wild ride!

A/N: This is story is AU since Cutler Beckett, the EITC, the Flying Dutchman, and Davy Jones are not involved. But did we really expect Will and Elizabeth to keep themselves out of trouble? I didn't think so... :)

Disclaimer: Nope, Will, Elizabeth and all their Piratey friends belong to Disney and not me. Sorry.

**Treachery**

**Chapter 1: Foreign Rebellion**

The sun rose lazily over Port Royal this warm spring morning. The black sky dotted with tiny flickering stars melted away in a fury of red and orange. The beams of light lanced through the puffy clouds. Stretching its brilliant fingers towards the earth, it bathed the houses and shops in a wreath of golden luminescence, waking the inhabitants.

Slowly, gray smoke rose from chimneys and the narrow dirt roads filled with activity. The air, though humid, was clean and fresh as the day's people heading to their various workplaces had not churned enough soil yet.

A smithy, the dark interior cool and but immaculate on the very outskirts of town lay quiet still. The hearth lay cold and only the previous day's ashes rested there.

A brief walk away was a house, its white front and wrap around portico void of humanity. The modestly furnished building was small but spacious enough for a family. If one looked closely enough they would see a balcony door open on the second floor. Gauzy curtains, enclosing the two glass doors edged with polished wood, shuddered in the breeze.

Just inside the attractive room sat an equally attractive woman on a plush chaise positioned to watch the town and sea below awaken. Her golden-brown hair was scooped up into a loose bun, a few curls laying on her neck and shoulders for the wind to toy with.

Elizabeth Turner breathed in deeply of the crisp morning air as her eyes watched the ocean beyond the shops and houses. She, being a late riser, normally would have slept in a few more hours but the baby had been incredibly insistent that she rise.

Her hand fell to the bulging lump on her waist. A moment later a little foot kicked hard against her womb and the soon-to-be mother smiled. Nothing seemed amiss this morning.

The sun shone with strength now on the Caribbean landscape and the sky was a brilliant azure. Tall tropical flowers lent their sweet scent to the soft breezes and it snaked up the hill to the comfortable home Will had bought just before their marriage three years ago.

Elizabeth's amber eyes flitted to the bed behind her. Her husband lay sleeping peacefully. One arm was strewn over the empty pillow to his right and the other plopped over his face to shade it from the brilliant beams of golden sunlight spilling across him.

"Will," she called gently. It was almost nine o'clock. High time he started to get ready for a day at the smithy.

He groaned in response.

"Will," she spoke a little louder, and moved to pause at the bedside next to him.

He groaned again.

Elizabeth thought for a moment and grinned as an idea came to her. "Will! Pirates!"

That did it. He shot up; eyes wide, curly dark brown hair poking out at all angles. "Wha'? Wh're?" His tongue wasn't so eager to spring into action and it slurred his words together.

For a instant Elizabeth wasn't sure that it had been the most brilliant plan of action but she had phase one completed. There was no retreating now. "There aren't any pirates, Will, unless you count yourself."

Will blinked at her then flopped back onto the bed, sliding a pillow over his ears. A phrase unclear through the feathers and cloth but still understandable floated back up to her, "Lisbeth, don' do tha'. I's too early."

"Will!" She leaned over and snatched the pillow away. "It's time for you to be at the smithy."

Something that sounded remarkably like a curse emerged from the second pillow he had burrowed under.

"William Turner!" Elizabeth gave him a swat on the shoulders. "There will be no foul words in my house." She sat down on the bed next to him and gently eased the second pillow away then tossed it behind her.

"Come on, Will," Elizabeth brushed the dark, stubborn curls near his forehead away and laid a kiss there. "Get up."

"Don' wan' to."

Now, Elizabeth knew that her husband was no sloth and this was incredibly unlike him in refusing to wake but this had gone too far. There had to be a good reason for this or someone was going to be in trouble. "Will, what time did you go to bed last night?"

"Dunno."

"Will,"

There was a grunt and then, "few 'ours 'go."

Elizabeth's jaw almost dropped. "What in heavens name were you doing out so late?"

"Workin'. Navy. 'mergency. Needed somethin'." The words grew softer with each syllable.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"Didn' wan' you tired."

Elizabeth, feeling a little guilty, crossed the room, bent over her growing belly and scooped up the two pillows to replace them at Will's side. "I'll tell Isabella to run down to the shop and post a note saying you won't be in today."

Only deep, even breathing was her reply.

* * *

The last dish was set on the lunch table and Elizabeth plunked herself down in front of the veritable feast, smoothing her plain brown skirts as she eyed the food. Cold chicken, fresh salad greens, a glass of lemonade, a baked potato and the last slice of apple pie.

Her appetite had been craving the strangest things. It was only yesterday that she simply had to have a bit of fresh mango. She hadn't been able to eat the soft fruit often but had loved the few times she had been able to do so.

With a loud growl from her stomach she sent a prayer heavenward, thanking the Lord for the food, then loaded her fork with a large bite.

It was at that instant that the door knocker sounded.

Feeling slightly irked, she stood and ambled to the large doors as Isabella was still out, leaving her and Will the house. Slowly, she pulled the wooden structure back and stared out at a group of about ten uniformed soldiers. "May I help you?"

"I believe you can." The captain stepped forward. "Is this the home of a Mr. William Turner?"

"It is." Elizabeth grew wary. She did not fear the law. No, indeed, she knew many of the soldiers in Port Royal by name. But these men were different. She had never seen them before.

"We need to speak with your…"

"Husband." She supplied the title with little courtesy, still hungry and irritated.

"Yes, may we see him immediately?"

Elizabeth let the door discreetly close an inch, uncomfortable with the way they glanced behind her into the quiet home. Besides, Will was still sleeping soundly and she wasn't going to wake him for these men. "He is unavailable right now. Perhaps there is something I can assist you with."

"I believe our business lies with Mr. Turner and Mr. Turner only." The captain's eyes flashed with annoyance but the emotion was quickly smothered as she didn't budge an inch. Seeing that she wasn't going to open the door, he tried a different avenue. "Perhaps I should introduce myself."

"Perhaps." Her tone was ice.

"I'm Captain Grant Hawthorne of His Majesty's Royal Army."

"Elizabeth Turner." She nodded curtly.

"Now, ma'am, I must speak with your husband."

"If you have a commission for him you may leave the specifics with me and I will be sure he gets them."

Captain Hawthorne shook his head. "Mrs. Turner, I don't believe you understood. We have a…proposition for your husband."

"And I am his wife. I'm sure I can answer any of your questions perfectly well and if not I shall have my husband come speak with you on another date."

"The heart of the matter is, Mrs. Turner, your husband has been suggested for service due to his extensive knowledge of weaponry."

"What?" Elizabeth's heart threatened to leap into her throat.

"He is to be drafted, Mrs. Turner."

"Captain Hawthorne, he is soon to be a father." Elizabeth let the door fall open, showing her six month pregnant self. "You cannot possibly suggest-"

"Mrs. Turner-"

They were both cut off by a sleepy voice from behind, "Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth turned to see Will, in a plain, white cotton shirt and clean breeches, standing in the middle of the staircase. His chocolate brown eyes were blurry from sleep or rather the lack of sleep. It was obvious that he had just raked back his unruly hair and tumbled from bed to discover what was happening without even stopping to put on a pair of stockings. "What's the matter?"

"Mr. Turner!" Captain Hawthorne barreled his way past Elizabeth and into the house, two soldiers in his wake. "Excellent."

Will blinked, taken aback by the man's audacity. "I don't believe we've met Mister…"

"Captain Hawthorne of His Majesty's Royal Army."

"Ah." Will moved down a few steps. "How can I help you?"

"Congratulations, Mr. Turner," Captain Hawthorne smiled broadly. "You have been selected for service in the Army."

Will's brow creased. He traversed the last two stairs and wrapped his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Captain, I don't believe I heard you correctly. Service in the Army?"

"You heard correctly, sir."

Will chuckled a little at that. "Captain, I'm sure my wife has pointed out that I am to be a father within a few short months. Surely there is someone better suited to the task, a gunsmith perhaps-"

"You came highly recommended."

Will's face creased in surprise. "Though I am flattered, I cannot just leave my family."

The Captain showed the first signs of frustration. "Mr. Turner," he fingered the finely crafted sword at his hip, "it was not an offer."

Will's own temper peaked. "Has His Majesty's Royal Army resorted to threats to gain troops?"

"Mr. Turner, you will decide now. I would suggest for you to agree. If not then I will have no choice but to forcefully remove you from this establishment."

"Captain Hawthorne, this is not an establishment. It is my home." The tone in Will's voice was just as deadly as the captain's. "I am the town blacksmith and have been for several years."

"I will ask one last time then I must give the order for your immediate removal from the premises."

Elizabeth's face couldn't have been whiter and her temper, while hot, was squelched by the crushing amount of fear washing over her. What if Will had to leave her? No, no, no! He wouldn't leave…he wouldn't leave! She repeated to herself a little more forcefully.

Will seemed to war within himself, as if his temper was near flooding point. Yet he composed himself and when he spoke it was very carefully and calmly. "It seems I have no option but to come with you. However, do not expect me to serve. I will speak with your commander and get this all straightened out."

The captain pursed his lips but did not protest, "very well." He stepped to the side of the door, indicating that Will should leave and that he would follow.

Here, Elizabeth could stay silent no longer. "Will! No!" she whirled on the soldiers, "You cannot take him away! He hasn't even eaten this morning! Surely he can re-join you later if he must!"

Hawthorne glanced from Elizabeth to Will, as if gauging whether they could be trusted or not. "Taking into account the fact that you are not keen on this proposition, I believe it would be best for you to come now." He spoke at last.

"Give me a moment with my wife to get some breakfast then I shall go where you want me to but only to settle this business. Let me make it clear that I intend to stay here with my family." Will stared the man down, dark eyes hard.

Hawthorne was the first to falter. "How do I know you will keep your word?"

"Ask anyone around here. I am trustworthy. And besides, you said yourself that I came recommended, don't you think it would be a bit strange to be that highly regarded but unable to keep my word?"

Captain Hawthorne's face reddened slightly in agitation. He stepped back crisply and nodded. "Very well. Report to the Fort Charles in one hour." Then he and his men turned crisply and marched off.

Elizabeth slammed the door shut and leaned against it, closing her eyes. This could not be happening. What if he had to leave? What if he missed the baby's birth? What if he was killed? No! She stemmed the tide of horrible questions.

"Lizzie?"

Elizabeth opened her eyes to see Will looking over his shoulder, paused on what looked like a trip to the kitchen.

"Are you alright? You look pale." He pivoted and moved to touch her cheek. "Perhaps you should go rest."

"No, I'm fine." She endeavored to smile up at him.

"This is about the soldiers, isn't it?"

She nodded slowly, reluctant to admit her disquiet.

Will's hand fell to take hers. "I'm going to be back, Lizzie, it'll take a moment to get everything all cleared up. I'll speak with Norrington and be back in time for lunch. It's just some mix-up foolishness, likely some clerk's sleepy blunder."

She tried not to be bothered while they entered the kitchen together, chatting as if the world had never been better. She tried not to watch him constantly, afraid that this might be the last time she laid eyes on him. Yet she stared as he drank a mug of strong tea, stared as he ate an orange, popping the sections into his mouth one by one.

The little things she noticed more than usual. The way his work-roughened fingers slid over the dishes as he cleaned them, the persistence with which he scrubbed a spill on the floor since she couldn't reach it with her growing waistline, and most especially the way his lips quirked when he found something amusing.

One who hadn't spent much time around him would have thought nothing was amiss, that he was perfectly relaxed and calm, but underneath the surface laid a tension that was barely felt but still present. His chuckle was a touch louder, his smile a bit wider, his words a bit more pronounced. The simple fact was that he was nervous and he was being strong for her account.

And that made Elizabeth all the more upset and ruffled.

Her eyes wouldn't leave him as he pulled on his boots, waistcoat, and overcoat. He wore no hat but yanked back his hair rather intolerantly and tied it off firmly. He had never had possessed much patience when it came to his hair.

When he headed for the door, she ran after him. He leaned in for a kiss then grinned, opened the door, and vanished down the lane. Still, she stood there, clutching her sides until the fabric beneath her palms was damp with perspiration. She had not eaten when he had and now the very thought of food sent her stomach spiraling down to her ankles, or so it felt.

Finally, she spoke aloud, "stop it, Elizabeth. He'll be fine. You worry too much." She returned to the parlor and picked up a book, intent on putting all troublesome thoughts from her head. But all the while she couldn't help fighting off the foreboding cloud that seemed to loom above her home.

* * *

Captain Hawthorne thought himself to be a kind and forgiving man. Why, he had even given that horrid woman and her husband some time together. But the way that…blacksmith had challenged him, had outsmarted him…it sent fury shooting through his veins.

He was used to complete and instant obedience from his subordinates and this Will Turner was blacksmith, a blacksmith! He was Grant Hawthorne, a captain!

The walk to the Fort wasn't long and he stormed into his temporary office, provided by the Navy, aides ducking away in fear. They all knew of his fierce temper and his substantial influence in the military. They also knew of his talent with a blade and were in no hurry to find themselves at its point.

His face twisted in wrath, he flung his tri-corn and wig into a chair near the fireplace and began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

It was something he did to regain his composure. A military man, such as he, was not to ever lose control of his emotions. On his ship he was allowed to vent himself in other ways but not here, not before the venerable Commodore Norrington.

Gradually, his expression melted away and he sank into his chair before the desk. This Mr. Turner would not get out of joining his regiment, especially since he was renowned for skill with a sword and his knowledge in the smithy. He also possessed information regarding certain pirates that could be put to excellent use.

Aye, Will Turner would be most useful in putting down the rebellion in the Americas.

**TBC...**


	2. Threats and Abductions

Thanks so much to Arquenniel, the-american-hockey-girl, and idle curiosity for reviewing!! I can't tell you how much I loved reading your responses to this story!

And to continue...

**Chapter 2: Threats and Abductions**

The pile of paperwork Norrington found himself trapped behind nearly reached his nose. His junior officers were helping all they could but it was nigh to impossible to get all of it done. Most of it had to be verified by Norrington anyway.

Rebellions were most inconvenient, he decided glumly. Mountains of ledgers had to be filled out to report happenings of late in Port Royal hoping to stifle any possible uprisings. Great Britain was not keen on secession in their colonies.

Feeling greatly put upon, Norrington lifted a sheet of parchment and began to write. Ink stains from so much scrawling had coated his fingers in black. Yes, he was really beginning to resent the 'Americans' for revolting.

The door creaked open and Norrington, with a mighty effort, smothered a sigh, praying it was not more paperwork. "Yes?" he inquired tiredly of a clerk.

"A Mr. Turner is here to see you."

"Send him in." Norrington threw down his quill and stood, eager for any excuse to take a break for his cramped fingers to rest even if it was the man who had taken away the perfect woman from him. A tendril of bitterness rose within his heart.

It was not that Will had disreputable character, in fact, it was quite the opposite, Will was one of the most respected men in town. It was that Elizabeth, the woman James loved, loved Turner.

He would not go voicing his resentment but it was a sore spot in his being, one that was often encountered.

Right at that moment in walked Will and Norrington straightened his stiff shoulders. "Mr. Turner, pleased to see you."

"The same to you." The younger man gave a nod in greeting.

The faint animosity between the two existed and they both felt it keenly at that moment. Norrington cleared his throat uneasily. "Please, sit down."

Will sat across from Norrington, his face an unreadable mask.

"Can I assist you in some way?"

"Yes, you can. Elizabeth and I were visited this morning by a Captain Hawthorne. He informed us that I had been selected for service in the army."

Norrington shifted his stance by a hair. He could feel a sheen of cold sweat building on his skin. "Continue."

"Sir, as I'm sure you know, Elizabeth is pregnant with our first child. I can't possibly be expected to leave."

"Mr. Turner, if you have been drafted I cannot intervene. I am a commodore not a general. I deal with the Navy. My authority does nothing in the Army."

Will leaned forward in his chair. "You mean to tell me that I am to leave Elizabeth and go to a far away land and fight in a war I know nothing about?"

"I am sorry. My hands are tied in this matter."

"Commodore Norrington," Will took another approach, "I was also told that I was highly recommended. Now you and I both know it had to have been someone high up. After all, someone with my history, helping pirates and all that, wouldn't be so sought after if someone hadn't vouched for him."

There was a long, uptight pause as Norrington ever so faintly whitened.

"You know, perhaps you were right. Perhaps I shouldn't have hoped for your assistance," Will stood, "Thank you for your time." He turned and strode towards the door but halted just before leaving and said sarcastically, "Oh, and I should also thank you for the recommendation." Then he was gone.

* * *

It was near dusk and Will had not returned. That was it for Elizabeth. She wrapped herself up in one of Will's overcoats, as it was scandalous to be in public so far along in her pregnancy, and marched down the side streets, dark by now, to the Fort.

He would have spoken with someone there. Who? She didn't know. Maybe Norrington. Maybe Gillette.

Head high and bracing herself for the heavy resistance she would receive upon entering the military establishment, she strode forward.

Yet, no one stopped her. No one even spoke with her. They shifted to the sides of the halls and pretended not to see her.

Shoving all fear away, Elizabeth tramped down the corridors until she came to Norrington's office. With a yank she jerked the door open and entered like hurricane. "James! Where is my husband?"

The response was the sound of a quill being pulled rapidly over a piece of parchment followed immediately by loud curse.

Elizabeth felt a bit apologetic seeing his reaction to her gale and lowered the volume of her tone. "James, my husband would have come to speak with you. That was at eleven this morning. Where is he?"

Norrington glanced up briefly from his work at her then returned to trying to remove the newly created blotch of ink roughly the size of a piece of eight. "He did visit earlier today. I, unfortunately, was of no assistance to him. I assume he left to speak with the Navy."

"I don't believe that was the answer to my question."

"Nor do I." Norrington's attention span was worn though and he wanted desperately to curl up and never visit the waking world again. Instead he crossed the room. Lifting a crystal decanter, he poured himself a generous portion of brandy. "I will be frank with you, Miss Swann-"

"Mrs. Turner." Elizabeth interrupted, irate that he had refused, after three years of marriage, to acknowledge her married name.

"Very well, Mrs. Turner, Will is no longer on this island or in this colony. In fact I have substantial reason to deem he is on board the Waking Power even now, sailing for the American colonies to help quench the rebellion."

Elizabeth's jaw could have hit the richly carpeted floor. "What?!"

"I'm very sorry but-"

"Do not apologize for something you are not repentant of, James!" Elizabeth's flummoxing emotions were near flooding point. "Now, where is my husband?" she asked almost lethally.

"He is gone."

* * *

Will's head felt the size of the Black Pearl and his sight swam as he regained consciousness. He eased himself to sitting position and tried to salvage some semblance of composure.

Wincing, he blinked several times to clear the fuzzy clouds obscuring his vision then strove to remember why his head pounded like someone was firing cannons inside it.

As the pummeling pain in his head receded, his memory returned...

_Will strode down the halls, trying to suppress his urge to hit something. The forge had always done that for him. Whenever he was cross he went to pounding away at the heated metal but that was impossible now._

_He had given his word to straighten this mess out and he always kept his word, no matter the cost._

_He didn't know where he was headed, really. He had a vague idea he should head for the Governor's. But as fate would have it he ended up almost running right into none other than Captain Hawthorne._

_"Ah, I see you've returned. Excellent. The Waking Power is ready to sail as soon as we board." He didn't notice or chose to ignore the glare settling on Will's tanned face._

_"Captain, I don't know why I was chosen for this, as I have no military knowledge, but I cannot be forced to serve."_

_"Indeed."_

_"I was just on my way to the Governor's to speak with him about this very matter. I am sorry to disappoint but I will not be joining you in the colonies."_

_"Oh, I think you will."_

_Will's frown deepened. "I beg your pardon?"_

_"Mr. Turner, I have done some...research, shall we say, on your background." The captain lifted several sheaves of paper then began to read off a list marked on the top page. "William Edward Turner II born to William and Anna Turner in England, June 25, 1755. Father left in May of 1760 as a merchant sailor. Mother died of unknown illness, November of 1767."_

_"I fail to see the point of all this." Will interrupted at the mention of his mother's death._

_"You will, Mr. Turner, if I may continue?"_

_Will didn't see any other choice as the Captain was blocking the passage to the door._

_Taking the silence as acquiescence, he continued, "Let's skip a bit ahead, shall we? July of 1775, sailed with notorious pirate Jack Sparrow." Hawthorne looked up pointedly._

_"I was granted clemency by Governor Swann," was the curt response._

_"Yes, for participating in piracy. But shortly thereafter you contrived an escape attempt for Sparrow. A failed attempt. Yet you were never arrested."_

_Here, Hawthorne waved the papers tauntingly in front of Will. "I have the information right here that could send you and your wife to the gallows."_

_Will's hands curled into fists. It was obvious that the man wanted something from him. The question of what, worried and angered him. "What do you want?"_

_"For the time being, all I want is for you to board the Waking Power, travel to the colonies, and fight."_

_That sounded simple enough. Too simple. Why would they go through so much trouble to delve into his past just to get another able soldier? "You are lying." He said bluntly. After all, there was no need to gloss over the truth._

_Hawthorne's lips quirked. "Quite right. I must say I'm impressed Turner. I didn't think you to be so clever."_

_A smart reply popped immediately to mind but Will had no chance to say it as a hard object came in contact with his head and he was thrust into darkness._

A hand fell on his shoulder and jostled him firmly. "Oi! Lad! Wake up!"

Will felt like socking whoever it was. "I am already." He shoved the two burly hands away and rolled into a sitting position. His eyesight was still foggy and he had to wait several minutes for the wide face of a man with crinkly blue eyes staring at him.

"Must a' had some strong liquor to give ya a hangover like that one." He laughed, apparently thinking Will's bleary glare extremely amusing.

"I don't drink."

At this the man laughed even harder. "If'n you don't drink than I'm a honest man." He roared in mirth. "That's liquor spilled down your shirt if'n I ever saw it."

Will's eyes fell to the white, cotton shirt he wore. A large amber stain coated the front. It reeked of brandy or another strong alcoholic beverage. What could he say to refute that? The proof was right there yet he hadn't taken a sip of the foul stuff.

"Cap'n wants ever'body on deck."

**TBC...**


	3. Memories and Nightmares

Thanks so much to willabeth0906 and Caomhe of Tyrone for your wonderful reviews! They are much appreciated!

**Chapter 3: Memories and Nightmares**

"Elizabeth, darling, you must think of the baby!" Governor Swann felt panicky as his daughter was filled with a determination he loathed to view. It always boded trouble. The storm brewing under her skin would be a horrible one and though he was in no shape to stand through it, he didn't-couldn't think she was able to leave Port Royal.

"The baby and I will be fine. I still have three months before the birth." The aforementioned woman was stuffing a long white chemise into a small trunk. Her pale hands shook as she rolled another of Will's overcoats into the same piece of luggage. She would find him. No matter the cost.

Her attention was onto the next article of clothing. It was a pale green gown with sleeves and hem trimmed in soft lace and creamy white embroidery. But it was not the beauty or delicate handiwork that took her breath away.

It was the reminder of Will. He had loved that dress on her. She remembered the first day she had donned it as if it was yesterday.

_Elizabeth tucked up the last curl laying her on shoulders and pinned it firmly into place. Then with a critical air she surveyed her face._

_"You look beautiful."_

_She started at the low voice in her ear. Pivoting in her chair, she saw her husband leaning over her. "Will, don't do that!"_

_"Call you beautiful? I was under the impression you liked that." Will grinned at her like a Cheshire cat._

_"No, sneaking up on me." She focused on the mirror and poked a tiny curl resting on her forehead. Absently, she watched in the reflection as Will seated himself on a chair nearby. "Will, are you worried about tonight?"_

_He looked taken off guard. "No, should I be?"_

_"I suppose not." Elizabeth opened a little box and chose a slender gold necklace. "It's just…" She trailed off while her fingers fumbled with the clasp until Will's warm fingers closed over her own._

_"Here," he loosened the catch and laid it around her neck, closing it firmly. He waited until she patted the jewels before speaking again. "It's just, what?"_

_Elizabeth pulled her chin down so he couldn't see the apprehension building in her eyes. "I'm nervous." It was barely a whisper._

_"Lizzie," Will came around to sit by her side, tipped her head up, and stared at her intently. "You have nothing to be concerned about. Your father will be thrilled with our news."_

_Elizabeth smiled weakly. "It's not that."_

_"Then what is it?"_

_"You'll think me silly." Her cheeks began to burn and not from the warm evening air._

_"I could never think you silly. Now tell me what has got my wife in a fix the night we announce becoming a family?"_

_"This dress…it…"_

_"Yes?"_

_"It makes me look more pregnant than I am." Elizabeth blurted then felt her face grow three shades darker._

_Will almost laughed but caught himself. "Elizabeth, you look more beautiful than the first time I saw you. And then I thought you an angel."_

_"Will, you really mean that?"_

_"Of course I do."_

_"Still, I think I'll just put on the blue gown-" She stood to enter the dressing room but Will caught her hand._

_"Elizabeth…don't…this dress…it suits you."_

_She gazed at him for an explanation._

_"Your eyes…it brings out the green in them."_

_"And you don't mind the lump?" Elizabeth smoothed the cloth over her womb._

_"That lump, as you so eloquently put it, is our child." Will's dark orbs twinkled like the sky at midnight. He transferred her hand to his other and led her to a tall gilded mirror in the future child's bedroom. Then, with his chin resting over her shoulder, they gazed at her reflection._

_"Do you know what I see?"_

_Elizabeth resisted the urge to fidget with the skirts. That fold there is just didn't…work. "What do you see?"_

_"I see the deepest amber eyes a woman could posses. I see an unearthly breathtaking face. And I see a glow in you that no other person I know boasts. Never doubt yourself, Lizzie." He pressed a light kiss to her high cheekbone and vanished into the corridor._

As she buried her face in the delicate, flowing fabric, emotions she had long been suppressing surfaced. Tears seared her eyes and threatened to tumble free.

A warm hand came to rest on her shoulder but even the slim strand of comfort offered there broke her heart further.

It should have been Will to hold her close and tell her everything would be alright. It should have been Will's callused hand resting on her trembling shoulder. It should have been Will!

Arms closed about her waist and her father's voice spoke in her ear, "He'll be just fine, Elizabeth. And if your heart truly beckons this strongly to follow him then I can no longer stand against it."

She nodded, the ability to speak strangely gone.

"I will arrange for your passage to the colonies. I can do no more for you as that will be out of British territory but I hope that you find him."

Slowly, she eased herself out to stare up at her the Governor. "Y-you will?"

"He has proven himself able to care for you and I wish for my grandchild to be raised by two parents." His wrinkled fingers brushed away a stubborn tear sliding down Elizabeth's cheek. "My only request is that you not forget about the father waiting for you in Port Royal."

* * *

"Lift your voice and raise the sail

Know that love will never fail

Know that I will sing to you

Each night as I dream of you"

_Mo Ghile Mear _

_By Celtic Woman_

The HMS Stanford was a sturdy, small frigate capable of a myriad of tasks. On this voyage she was lightly armed, able to speed through the water. She was not extravagant but serviceable and clean. Her crisp, white sails, loosed in the morning winds, fluttered and then jerked taught in the gusts.

The deck was spotless and the sailors who manned her were equally without reproach. A fresh strip of sky blue paint glistened around her hull and in clear black letters her name was proudly proclaimed to all.

Everything about her was summed up in one word, spotless. It was her maiden voyage and she showed in every respect her pride in the event.

Elizabeth had been given the captain's quarters, due to her gender. The room was snug but perfectly clean. She could only find one thing to critique and that was the lack of color.

The queen sized bed had a good mattress made of goose down feathers and white linen sheets smelling of lye. The fluffy comforter was a pale gray with no embroidery or embellishments.

A wide table was bolted down to the floor in the center of the room and on it rested a pile of blankets and two silver candlesticks. Cabinets lined one wall, crafted from dark, polished wood. The double doors leading to the main deck were lined with the same chocolate colored wood.

Windows lined the back wall and not a single smudge marred the perfectly translucent surface. A long window seat covered the window's base and even its cushions were covered with the same drab gray.

The one colorful thing in the room was a small painting near the bedside and even that didn't have much contrast. The image showed a troubled sea near a rocky shore. Pallid sunlight dusted the foam and crashing waves frozen on a piece of canvas. It was not the brilliant turquoise of the Caribbean waters but that of England. Each wave revealed a new shade of gray and dark blue. The heavens were nearly black and a tendril of lightning had been drawn as striking the turbulent waters, the feathery illumination etched white stripes down the dark waters. Mist hid the horizon from her and it almost was if she could feel the sea spray on her face and the chill of terror skittering up and down her spine.

"Mrs. Turner?" Captain Mitchell's deep booming voice startled her and she jerked away from the painting as a child caught in some forbidden treats.

"Yes?" she scrambled to retain her dignity.

"Is everything to your liking?"

"Yes, yes, of course. The room is very comfortable." Elizabeth chose her words carefully as to not comment of the color selections.

He nodded, clear blue eyes stern. "Excellent. Breakfast is served at precisely eight o'clock and dinner is at four."

Elizabeth nodded absently, finding her eyes drifting back to the painting.

Silence reigned for a moment until the captain spoke again following her gaze, "it's from England. An old codger painted it for me, said it would bring good luck." He paused, obviously debating within himself as to whether he had offended her, "if you believe such things." He added finally.

"Its very well done." She commented. In truth it reminded her frighteningly of the day she had nearly died on the Isla de Muerta. The same terrifying sensation lay in the painting as in her heart to that day. Will had always been there though to soothe away her nightmares with his affectionate words and tender embraces.

A commotion was heard above them and Captain Mitchell turned a degree or two. "It seems I am needed. If you'll excuse me?"

She affirmed with a nod and managed a small smile.

The door clicked shut as he left and Elizabeth crossed the room to stare out over the waters, purposely putting her back to the painting. It was bolted to the wall, that she knew from spending a good portion of her life on board such vessels, preventing her from removing it. All she could do was ignore it.

Curling into the smallest ball possible, she settled herself on the window seat and let her eyes drift closed.

**TBC...**


	4. Boundless Horizons

Thanks so much to idle curiosity for the review! It totally made my day!

**Chapter 4: Boundless Horizons**

_Trapped._

_She was trapped. On all sides chanting, leering, taunting faces. Their hollow eyes, void of emotion, bored into her. Ratty clothing hung on their bones as the moon illuminated the cave, glittering with gold and treasure. Thin fingers were jutted at her and several men held knives, glistening with some sort of liquid._

_Barbossa stood at her side, the pale, cool blade of bone in his cruel hand. His mouth was twisted into a sneer, exposing rotten teeth slick with spittle. The stained fingers grasped her own and the sharp edge of the dagger met her palm._

_The icy air bit at her exposed arms and neck, sticking little pin-pricks of pain in the skin. One word forced itself past her immobile lips, "no."_

_The answer was a harsh laugh, echoed by the crew._

_Abruptly the scene changed and Will stood before her. A peaceful shore lined with cool palm trees. Their neat white home lay just yards away._

_But the serenity in the landscape before her did not penetrate her heart. She dashed forward, propelling herself into his open arms. "Will! Promise!"_

_"Promise what, Lizzie?" His dark eyes flickered with confusion and love._

_"You won't leave me?"_

_"I would never leave you willingly. I love you too much."_

_Finally, the pressure in her chest eased and she could breathe easily again. "I was so afraid that I would lose you."_

_"Never." The word was softly spoken and Elizabeth savored it, repeating it over and over to herself mentally. He leaned in for kiss and just as their lips met the image began to fade like a frosty window touched by warm hands._

_The colors melted away and without warning she was in the cave again. Furthermore, it was not Will by her side but Barbossa._

"_The blood must be paid." He snarled at her then jerked down, slicing the pale skin away, a long jagged gash in her smooth hand._

_But to her horror the gash did not stop after the blade was pulled away. It seemed to feed on her blood and almost eagerly snaked up her arm. Suddenly, there was a fierce horrible pain blossoming over her waistline._

_"Will!" She screamed to the heavens, praying he would swoop down and aid her. "Please! Help me!"_

Elizabeth fairly flew forward, skirts tangled around her ankles. Her hair stuck to her damp forehead and neck. The wintry perspiration clung to her like a shroud.

Her hands shook wildly as she stood and opened several windows, letting the warm Caribbean air flood the cabin.

She leaned out as far as she dared and as far as her growing unborn child would let her. The gales of wind buffeting her were not gentle yet she didn't move.

In those winds she found peace. She was going to find Will. He would be there when their child was born. He would caress away her fears. He just had to be there.

Slowly and reluctantly she unwound herself from the warm cocoon of wind and slid back into the cabin. Her hands reached for the clasps to close the windows when a tiny black dot captured her attention.

Squinting, she stared at the strange object, one hand shielding the fading sunlight from her line of vision. The dot grew and gradually Elizabeth was able to make out square sails.

Her breath caught and immediately she knew who it was, even before the lookout high above her shouted, "Pirates! Port side!"

Wrestling her skirts from catching on the plush seat she darted out of the cabin onto the deck. The area was devoured by activity. Sailors in blue ran from one end of the ship to the other, preparing cannons, rifles, and swords.

Captain Mitchell stood calmly at the helm, every now and then shouting an order for that to be moved there or a sail to be pulled in.

"Captain!" Elizabeth gathered a fist of cloth hampering her stride and mounted the few steps to the high deck. "Captain Mitchell!"

"Mrs. Turner." He acknowledged her crisply. "If you wouldn't mind returning to the cabin, we seem to have encountered a pirate ship."

"Captain," Elizabeth began to tell him that she knew the pirate captain until she realized how preposterous that would sound.

"Mrs. Turner, pirates are not to be trifled with. Please return to your cabin and stay there."

Feeling insulted, she summoned all of her height and said in a haughty tone only she could attain, "Captain Mitchell, I have been a prisoner to pirates before. I daresay I know their tendencies. I also know how to handle myself. I will return to my cabin when danger arises and not a moment before."

Now it was the Captain's turn to get conceited. "Madam, I am aware of your exploits. I merely wished to keep my promise to your father."

"Your promise to my father?!" Elizabeth's very stance demanded an answer.

"I was charged with your well-being, Mrs. Turner, and I take my responsibilities very seriously." He waved a hand to an aide. "I apologize but this is for your own good."

"What?" Two arms linked with hers and she felt herself being propelled towards the cabin. "No!"

She flailed her arms and bucked, all the while having the strange sensation of déjà vu. "No! Leave me be!"

Jack was on that ship. He had to be. And while the rum-logged pirate could grate on her nerves he was clever. She needed the help he could offer.

A part of her mind asked, at what price? But that thought was brutally quenched as the door slammed shut and a lock clicked into place outside.

Nearly seeing crimson in rage, Elizabeth turned and placed her back on the door still seething. She did not mind that they cared for her well-being. However, when they treated her as a dainty morsel not to be taken seriously, her blood boiled.

Sinking down to sit on the wooden planks, she crossed her arms and waited. Jack would take over this ship easily. Then she would have her chance to speak with him.

--

Jack Sparrow was feeling rather confident at the moment. In front of him sailed a sparkling new ship, one that could be taken and then ravaged for fresh canvas, gun powder, and various other supplies.

His one complaint of British ship is that they had a shocking lack of rum. It seemed not many military men drank the golden, liquid form of forgetfulness.

One perpetually dirt smudged hand stroked his compass while the other lay calmly on the hilt of his sword. "Da-da, da, da-da, da-da-da-da, and really bad eggs…"

Gibbs changed the ships course by a few knots and pretended not to noticed his captain's off tune murmurings in song. After several years, he was used to it.

"Drink up me hearties, yo-ho." Jack suddenly lurched forward. "I'll take it from 'ere, mate." He prodded Gibbs from the helm with two fingers.

The crew intuitively knew what to do and Jack stood, gazing happily at his beloved Pearl in action.

"Oi! You!" He bellowed drunkenly at Marty, a stout dwarf with keen eyes and a hardy disposition. "Run out the guns!" a rakish grin spread over Jack's features, "we've got us a ship to catch."

The Black Pearl surged forward with a powerful gust of wind, closing the distance between the merchant ship and the pirate vessel. The wood seemed to thrum as the waves dusted with foam crashed over the dark hull.

"Bring 'er around…" he muttered to himself while aligning his precious Pearl with the Stanford.

Faces white as sheets on board the merchant ship greeted the pirates under Jack Sparrow's command. The Pearl had become renowned for her looting and her reputation had not been stifled in the least by rumors and exaggerated tales in taverns.

Indeed, the Black Pearl and her crew were amongst the most feared in the Caribbean. Stories followed her wherever she went.

The air froze as each ship summed the other up. Then, with a crack of muskets and the roar of cannons the two vessels greeted each other in gunpowder and splintering wood.

The Stanford held her waters well for a large part of the battle until pirates swarmed her decks like bees over honey. Her crew was subdued and Jack sauntered happily over to survey the handiwork.

There seemed to be a commotion of some sort near the captain's cabin. A female's voice…surely the captain hadn't brought along his wife.

Jack peered around the corner to see a shattered door leading to the cabin and a woman, long sandy blond hair streaming and amber eyes flinty in irritation, arguing with a new member on the Pearl rather animatedly.

Sparrow only knew of one woman who could quarrel with anyone and look gorgeous while doing it. Elizabeth.

Said woman whirled hearing footsteps yet halted stiffly seeing who it was. "Jack!"

"Captain, Lizzie, captain."

"Do not call me, Lizzie." Her tone was pure ice.

Jack pulled out a hurt face and lurched around her. "But it fits you, love. And tell me, why should I call you what you want when you still refuse to call me captain, aye?"

"Will calls me Lizzie. No one else." One pale finger was raised in threat.

"Ah, where is the aforementioned whelp?" Jack's eyes alighted over the space they stood in but no sign of Will.

The cold in Elizabeth's eyes melted and she seemed to draw into herself. Her arms hooked 'round her waist, which looked oddly wide to Jack, and she hugged herself lightly. "He's not here." She whispered finally.

Jack got the impression she wished to continue but did not know how to proceed so he waited and sure enough she began to speak again,

"They came a few days ago, English soldiers, saying that Will had to help suppress the rebellion in the America colonies with the British army. He left to go straighten everything out with Norrington...and never came back."

"Lizzie-"

Her glare caused the words to die on his lips.

"Pardon, Elizabeth, I happen to be heading for said colonies." He left the invitation open.

For a moment a light sprung to her eyes but was quickly squelched. "Jack…I can't."

"Why not?"

"Captain Mitchell, he'll tell my father that you kidnapped me. Then where will we be?"

Jack waved her concern off. "Life is been bloody boring since I was in Port Royal. Wha's a few ships on me tail? Besides, no can catch the Pearl."

"Jack, why the sudden urge to help Will and I?"

"When have I not 'elped you and the whelp? Aye?"

"Jack…"

He cleared his throat and tugged at his tri-cornered hat. "I might possibly be in need of some assistance wif a small debt… but wha's it to you?"

"I knew it!" Elizabeth raised a hand to smack him then thought better of it. "Jack Sparrow, if I didn't need you help to find Will…"

"Captain! Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please!"

"Fine Captain, get me on your ship, help me find Will, and we'll help you. Deal?"

Jack shook the dainty hand she offered. "We have an accord."

--

Will stumbled up on deck, blinking rapidly in the sun's sharp beams. His head still ached faintly but the pain was receding and logical thinking appeared within his grasp once more.

Standing in the center of the main deck was Hawthorne. He was surrounded by the motley crew and they stood crisply at attention.

"Roark!" He barked at a thin, sallow man with narrow features.

"Aye, sir?"

"We have a new recruit. See that he is welcomed."

Roark's pale brown eyes alighted on Will and he stalked, over growling a terse order at the younger man, "Come with me."

Will's eyes narrowed in irritation but he followed Roark as the soldier led him below the decks into the bellows of the ship.

"This 'ere is the galley," Roark jutted a bony finger at a tiny hole in the corridor where a tawny man was bent over a steaming pot, "that is the sick bay," Another miniscule cubby with a few shallow cots lying on the floor. He was brusquely led down the hall before even a full minute had expired, wondering when was the last time that infirmary had actually helped someone get better instead of worse. Due to the filthy conditions he didn't think very recently.

"Here," Roark shoved a stiff red coat into blacksmith's face. "You'll wear this at all times." A loose white shirt and a pair of worn boots followed the coat. "On deck in three minutes for crow's nest duty."

Will watched as Roark left then looked down at the clothes. A hole the size of sixpence lay on the right shoulder and a tear at least three inches long marred the fabric just above the left hem.

Elizabeth would have thrown a fit…Elizabeth! The baby! Panic surged through Will's veins. How could he have forgotten about them?!

She would work herself into a frenzy finding him! No matter how he wished to encircle her in his arms and place a kiss on her soft lips, he wouldn't want her in danger. Knowing his Elizabeth, she would go overturning every stone to find a way to free him from these military restraints. And that very possibly included getting herself stuck in mires of danger.

Will wouldn't have minded joining the Army if he knew Elizabeth and the baby would be alright. But being forced…

"Turner! Now!" Roark snapped down the hallway.

When Will emerged from below in the starched uniform looking horribly out of place, he was directed immediately to the crow's nest.

A musket was shoved in his hands and he was given rapid instructions on how to load the weapon. The sailor's head disappeared from crow's nest and Will was left alone with his thoughts and a boundless horizon.

**TBC...**

If you've got a minute, please drop me a review and tell me what you think!


	5. Threats

Thank you to Telcontar Rulz for the review! I really appreciate any feedback!

And in case I haven't mentioned this already, I don't own any of the clips of song lyrics anywhere in this story. I'm merely borrowing them.

**Chapter 5: Threats**

Elizabeth had encountered a problem, a rather large one at that. Her simple dress was filthy and her hygiene wouldn't put up with one more stain.

So it was with great trepidation that she opened the chest in the captain's cabin on board the Pearl and began digging through the few spare articles of clothing.

Inside were four tan shirts, a pair of breeches, and a long overcoat. She presumed the shirts had originally been white…a shudder skittered up her spine.

She didn't even want to think about it.

Besides the tattered condition of the fabric the whole wooden chest reeked of rum and, oddly enough, tobacco.

Grimacing, she brushed the dusty overcoat off and held it up, strong, forest green leather. It was cut for a man but it was also serviceable. At least until she could clean her dress.

Yet she was still confronted with the task of what to wear underneath the overcoat…

"Havin' troubles, love?"

Elizabeth whirled to see Jack leaning lazily on the door frame, trademark grin pasted on firmly. Her expression of surprise faded to haughtiness at being caught so unaware. "I don't believe it is any of your business."

"Tha's where most people misunderstand things," Jack meandered across the room, "Ever'thin' is Cap'n Sparrow's bis'ness, savvy?"

Elizabeth positioned her attention back on the clothes. _If I made a seam there the hole would mend nicely_…she thought absently.

"Ya know, love, I got meself a nice dress in me cabin."

Elizabeth could have glowered daggers at him. The man was clever but sometimes bordered on insufferable. "This is your cabin, Jack."

He tactfully ignored the remark and instead opened another chest behind a pile of odds and ends. With a flourish, he pulled out a simple ivory dress. The waistline was cut generously in a series of panels, leaving enough room for Elizabeth to adjust it to her growing belly.

"Jack!"

"What?"

"Where in heaven's name did you get that?"

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

Elizabeth took the proffered gown gently and skimmed the tips of her fingers over the soft cloth. "Really, where did you get this?"

"Let's jus' say it's on long term loan, love."

Silently, Elizabeth held the dress up and admired the beautiful tailoring. The panels were expertly done and it would take no work at all for her to alter it.

"Liz'beth," Jack paused, "you..." he gestured to his stomach then hers and for once looked flustered.

"I'm what, Jack? Pregnant?"

He snapped his fingers triumphantly. "Tha's the one!"

"I have been for nearly six months."

"Ah, so you and the whelp finally tied the knot, aye?"

"Yes, two years ago."

Jack seated himself and tipped the rickety chair back, twining his fingers together. "You have the bloody story-book endin' y'always wanted?"

Elizabeth forced her gaze back on the gown. "Only until now…"

"Love, 'e's not dead. 'Sides, there are plenty more…desirable subjects of the male race…"

"Jack…" the fire in her eyes lit with a vengeance.

He grinned at her, reveling in her annoyance. "Now, what do you say we go find your dear William? Where were the bloody English takin' 'im to?"

"I don't know."

"Tha's a wonde'ful start, really." Jack fingered his jacket calmly. "Di'n't they talk 'bout where in the world they wan'ed 'im to go?"

"They did say something about taking him to suppress the revolution in the colonies."

"Excellent."

"But Jack, Great Britain has hundreds of colonies. Which one could they have meant?"

"Ever heard of a little place called the Americas?"

"Of course I have."

"It seems the lot of them doesn't appreciate being ruled by ole' King George." The beads in Jack's hair tinkled as he gestured animatedly. "And apparently Georgie doesn't like 'aving 'is colonies revolt."

"To the Americas then?"

"Aye."

--

As the Waking Power grew nearer to the Americas the water and weather turned colder. The air became lighter and acquired a nasty bite. The ocean was no longer the lovely turquoise blue Will had become used to but instead a plain dark gray.

In the weeks on the high seas, Will became increasingly worried about the future. Not for his own but for his wife and child. What if something had befallen them?

Surely Elizabeth wouldn't try to chase after him. Or would she? The answer lay in his heart and he knew he wouldn't do any differently if he was in her situation but…

"Land ho!"

Will started, uneasy to have been caught drifting in his thoughts, and glanced around them.

Sure enough, a pale line of land showed on a canvas of red and orange as the sun rose.

So, this was the Americas. This was the place where men had dared stand up to the greatest military power in the world. If Will knew nothing else he would still be impressed by their gumption.

"Turner!" A harsh voice shot up towards him.

It was a voice Will easily recognized. Hawthorne. The insufferable man had taken it upon himself to annoy Will at every possible moment. So, in an effort to avoid him, Will had taken to extra shifts in the crow's nest. Unfortunately, Hawthorne had caught onto that strategy all too quickly.

"Turner!" The call was repeated and Will was forced to begin his descent or be accused of avoidance of duty and get punished for it.

"Yes, sir?" The former blacksmith ground out once his feet touched the wooden deck.

"You are to report to Colonel Edwards on board the HMS Justice once we reach shore, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"And since we are still hours away from Boston you will make yourself useful by scrubbing the floor in my cabin."

"I still have two hours on watch, sir."

"Garrett! You will take over Turner's watch." Hawthorne grinned smugly at Will before walking to the ship's helm.

Will bit down on his tongue and clenched his fists together as he clomped down the stairs, retrieved a bucket of lye water, and entered the cabin belonging to Captain Hawthorne. How he wished for a nice hot piece of metal to bang into a sword right now. Or better yet a finished sword to plant under Hawthorne's nose. Yes, that would do nicely.

He slapped the rough brush down on the planks and started to scrub, ignoring the burn on his skin. If Hawthorne wanted war then so be it. His only reserve was the repercussions to his family if he did not cooperate.

--

Someday our fight will be won, and

We'll stand in the sun, in

That bright afternoon

'Til then, on days when the sun

Is gone, we'll hang on

If we wish upon the moon

_Someday_

_By Celtic Woman_

Night had fallen over the waters as Elizabeth leaned over a pile of maps Jack had "kindly" dumped on her lap.

"Jack, what do you mean find Will?"

"If I recall correc'ly," Jack straightened, "I never said find Will per se. I said..." he shut his mouth noticing her expression. "Nev'r mind."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Elizabeth was feeling considerably angry as Jack continued to allude what she thought was any sign of Will. "I agreed to come with you on one condition. And that condition is Will."

"I know that." Jack lifted yet another bottle of rum to his lips. "But what would you say ta a little side trip, aye?"

"Where?"

"Up river."

"Jack…"

"Wouldn't take long at all, love."

"No Jack! I have to find Will!"

"How is it that you and him and he and you can nev'r seem to keep the other out of trouble? Haven't you tried hiding somewhere?"

"You are always involved in that trouble, ever thought of that?" Elizabeth stuffed the maps on the table.

"It's because I'm jus' so irresistible." He displayed a roguish grin towards her.

"Jack Sparrow, are you flirting with me?"

"Take what you can, love, give noffin back."

"Need I remind you that I am a married woman?"

He leaned in close. "Pirate."

Elizabeth could find no smart reply so she whirled and traced her fingers down a merchant path in the western portion of the map. "Where do you think they've taken Will?"

"Haven't we been through all this hubba-loo?"

"The Americas, yes, I know. But where in the Americas?"

"Boston."

"How can you be so sure?"

"All the bloody redcoats seem to be having some sort of high, fancy to-do up there."

"My husband's life could be at stake at that is all the facts you give me?"

"Take it or leave it, love."

"Then to Boston it is and you had better hope for your health that you are right because if you are not and Will is harmed...may the Lord help you."

--

The city of Boston was busy as usual the morning the Waking Power slid into the harbor. Will was immediately shown off the ship. Hawthorne didn't even allow him to wash the lye off his hands.

The HMS Justice was in considerably better shape than the Waking Power. White sails without patches graced the masts and the wood had been given a fresh coat of paint.

The private who had brought Will on board led him into a spacious cabin. "Colonel Edwards? William Turner to see you."

A silhouette of a tall, husky man pivoted and as the light fell on an angular face with brown hair and piercing gray eyes, Will was given a shove from behind, propelling him into the center of the room. "Mr. Turner, excellent." The man smiled though he did not seem pleased at all.

"Colonel Edwards, why am I here?"

The man laughed harshly and crossed to a high shelf on which a bottle of dark fluid sat. "Let's not be hasty, far too unpleasant. Let us talk about something more…" Colonel Edwards searched for the right word while pouring himself a generous portion of some foul smelling drink, "agreeable, shall we?"

"Then what will be talk about? I in trade and believe me when I say, wasted time is no help to anyone."

"You are very intelligent, Mr. Turner." The Colonel grinned and took a sip from his glass. "You are from Port Royal, correct?"

Nod.

"And you have a wife?"

Nod.

"She is expecting your first?"

Nod.

"Mr. Turner," Edwards seated himself. "You seem like a decent man who cares for his family. I wish to provide you with an opportunity which will not only clear you and your wife of charges involving setting free a man charged with piracy but will afford you with a substantial means to care for your family very comfortably for the rest of their days." He stared at Will hard. "Does this interest you?"

"That depends on your definition of interest. Interest as in curious then yes, interest as in avid pursuit of such an offer then no."

"My offer consists of your aid in tracking down a well-known brigand. He has become quite a thorn in my side these last few years. Perhaps you may have heard of him." The Colonel lifted his glass to the light streaming in from the windows lining the stern of the space. "He is largely famous for…peculiar exploits involving His Majesty's Royal Navy."

"Why would you need me for this?"

"I believe you will recall him quite well."

At Will's silence the Colonel continued, "He goes by the name of Jack Sparrow."

"Captain."

"Pardon?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Apologies. Captain Jack Sparrow. Your adventures, I suppose you could call them, with him have made you a prime candidate to know his tricks."

Will had to laugh a little. "Colonel Edwards, not even Jack's closest friends can understand the way his mind works."

"And you would be one of these close friends?"

"More acquaintance than friend."

Edwards took a draught from his glass and glanced up at Will as if just remembering something. "Pardon me, would you care for some scotch?"

"I don't drink."

"Pity." Edwards set his glass on the table in front of him and threaded his fingers together. "My offer, Mr. Turner? I need an answer, in case you'd forgotten."

"You have not explained the specifics of this job."

"I have not, nor do I mean to until I have your word that you will do as we tell you."

Will was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the casual air about the whole matter. It deepened his feeling of danger if he were to accept. But how was he to refuse? "Colonel, I cannot give my acquiescence to a task where the specifics lay in shadow."

Edwards averted his gaze and stared out the window for a prolonged moment until finally he spoke, "Captain Hawthorne complained to me of your increasing dissension and disregard of instructions given to you. You understand, of course, that you must obey your superiors or face severe consequences."

"He is not my superior as I am not in your military."

"Correct. But that can be arranged." Edwards leaned forward a touch. "Mr. Turner, I believe you will find it much more pleasant merely to comply with our wishes. After all, we do not want to force anyone."

"You have already accomplished that by removing me from my home and bringing me here."

Edwards sat silently again while his eyes took on a thoughtful glaze. "You leave me no choice, Mr. Turner." He began once more. "Captain Hawthorne has asked for retribution and I shall not stand in his way. But you would do well to remember that I did warn you."

**TBC...**


	6. A Cry for Help

Thanks so much to Caomhe of Tyrone, Telcontar Rulz, and lady angst for your awesome reviews! I hope you all enjoy the next chapter!

**Chapter 6: A Cry for Help**

Colonel Edwards' caution about Captain Hawthorne proved to be entirely accurate and the next morning Will was taken ashore again, amid a sprinkle of rain, this time to an extensive cluster of buildings.

It appeared to be a military compound of some type but the men manhandling Will wouldn't slow the fast pace Hawthorne had set. They only stopped at the very center of the enclosure where a single tree stood.

The tree had been stripped of branches and in some places the bark as well. Two rusty but thick metal loops and two round cuffs protruded from the sides around ten inches above Will's eye level.

"Here, Turner, is where I will make you regret every insubordination on board the Waking Power. Here you will know the true meaning of thirst and hunger. Here you will feel cold and heat as you never felt it before." Hawthorne looked as if he was enjoying this far too much.

Every tendon, ligament, and muscle in Will's body was screaming at him to fight the hands pulling at him. Raw dread formed a corkscrew in his belly as his hands were wrenched above him and enclosed in the metal rings.

Hawthorne clamped a leather gloved hand in Will's dark hair and used the tendrils as a handle to pull the younger man's head around so that it was facing him. "I can be civil, Turner. All you need do is apologize for your rebelliousness and I will consider revoking the sentence."

Will's gaze was so frosty it could have caused anyone to shudder at the overpowering fury.

"Stubborn to the last I see." Hawthorne grinned devilishly and slammed Will's head into the tree.

While stars blinded Will's gaze, Hawthorne stepped away and faced the group of men now surrounding the tree.

"Leave him there until tomorrow afternoon. He is to have no water or food. If anyone has any reason why he should not be punished, take it up with the Colonel." Then Hawthorne stalked away in nearly tangible cloud of triumph whilst Will prepared himself for a long night.

* * *

When the light begins to fade,

And shadows fall across the sea,

One bright star in the evening sky,

Your love's light leads me on my way.

_The Soft Goodbye_

_Celtic Woman_

Wind poured across Elizabeth's face as she stood at the Pearl's railing, drinking in the pure horizon and the clear, azure waters. The scene was the meaning of tranquil.

Yet deep in her heart lay unease. She was trapped a good few days behind Will. In the many quiet spells on the voyage she had tracked out the passage they likely would have taken sixteen or seventeen days with pleasant weather.

She had been on the high seas for a fortnight. Will would be just over two days ahead of her, possibly three.

A heavy sigh plunged from her lips and she turned, laying her back over the rail and placing her elbows on the wood behind her.

While the view behind her was serene and relaxing the prospect before her was ominous and dark with black clouds billowing above.

"Jack?" She questioned softly.

"Knew you couldn't resist me." The pirate captain gazed over at her from where he was tapping at his compass.

A quick eye-roll was the only response to his comment. "Those clouds…they won't be a problem, will they?"

For once Jack was eerily serious. "The sea is a strange and fickle mistress, love. Not even I know all of her aspects." His almost coal black eyes fell on the waters beginning to churn and crash about.

Elizabeth followed his gaze and watched in amazement as the liquid spun and twirled in an unending dance. It was hauntingly beautiful and strangely chilling.

The water was so cold here. Not even the salty wind whipping her hair about her face was warm. Its icy touch probed at the fringes of her leather overcoat and seemed to suck the heat away.

One thing was certain to Elizabeth. A storm was brewing both on the waters and in her heart.

* * *

Weary.

Will Turner was so weary of everything. Dawn was starting to show her colors across the dark sky but even that did not cheer him. In fact it lowered his spirits. For it showed him how much longer he would stand here for all the soldiers to see and be able to taunt.

His wrists ached and smarted fiercely in the iron restraints, letting him know they were through with the punishment. With glazed eyes he glanced over the landscape, counting the houses, people, chimneys, anything.

Two armed men in uniform stood feet away, snoozing under a particularly large tree with leaves the size of Will's palm.

One thing that never ceased to amaze Will was the difference between Port Royal and Boston. Here the air was thinner, if possible, and the landscape drier and less colorful. But the scents were stronger and more pungent while in Port Royal they were soft and taunting.

He was indeed worn down and tired. He had resolved long ago, however, that he would never show it. Not to Colonel Edwards. Not to Captain Hawthorne. Not to the people watching over him now.

And as for tracking down Jack. No. He couldn't.

Yes, the pirate had nearly traded him in for a ship but something was oddly endearing about the eccentric man who insisted on being called a captain. He had a mysterious air about him…maybe that was it.

Or maybe it was the sea. Jack brought adventure and the sea.

Will let his eyes drift close, let his head rest on the wood, and could almost taste the sea spray on his tongue and the cool breeze flying across his skin. Yes, that was it.

Pirating was in his blood, true enough but that could be ignored. It was the call of the sea that he was finding harder to blot out from his mind. Elizabeth had once asked him about his yearning for the sea. He had firmly assured her that he would never leave her but if ever he had the chance to go to sea with her…

The burning in his muscles brought him back to reality and out of the thoughts he was allowing to consume him. He shifted slightly and saw that the sun had risen high in the pale blue sky.

His two guards had been replaced and they eyed him warily. "Hey, you! Stop squirming or I'll report you!" One snarled.

Will's stare became hard-edged and he clenched his jaw, forbidding any retorts to fall free. It had been an arduous night but it was going to an even more grueling day.

* * *

Elizabeth's fears about the weather proved to be true as icy rain fell in sheets from the jet black sky. It should have been around mid-day but angry, billowing clouds hid the sun and azure sky beyond.

A sudden lurch in the Pearl's path caused her to fly into a pile of crates. "Jack!" she spluttered, one hand on the child moving within her and the other shoving her hair back from her line of sight, all the while wondering why he had not given the order for the sails to be pulled in. "Jack!"

He didn't answer, wholly focused on his compass and navigating his ship through the storm.

"Jack, shouldn't we-" another wave of cold water rushed past her, slicing away her breath and her words along with it.

She grasped at the sodden wood and managed to cling to the mizzenmast. A slippery rope was thrown in her direction and a brisk order, made choppy by the wind, to secure herself to the ship.

Scrambling on her hands and knees around the deck she gathered up with line and stumbled back to the mizzenmast. With teeth chattering, she fumbled with the coarse rope, managing to get it tied to the mast and around her waist.

She was still trying to get the knot finished off when a particularly harsh wall of sea water crashed across her.

In a moment she was off her feet and being shoved forward. The hard water flung her towards the gaping ocean and away from safety on board the Pearl. She flailed and felt a scream leave her throat.

Nothing, however, halted her progress toward open sea. She hit the water hard and slid beneath the churning waves like lead.

Struggling madly, she kicked and beat towards what she thought was up. It was all so dark. Something slammed into her leg and spasms took her when she tried to kick.

_This can't be happening. Not now, not here_, she thought in horror until another obsidian shape flew down past her on its path to Davy Jones' Locker.

Down… wait. Adrenaline rushed through her veins even as her lungs burned from lack of air. She beat at the liquid, forcing her way up.

She had to live. She had to conquer this, for the baby, for Will.

Just when she thought she could survive no longer the water ended and she burst out into the raging storm. Yet who would see her in all this fury of water?

Another scream ripped through her as a wave came down upon her. But the cry for aid was not for Jack or anyone near her.

It was for Will.

**TBC...**


	7. Missing

A/N: I'll be gone for the next two weeks so this will be the last update until July 3rd. My apologies but I won't have internet access. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter 7: Missing**

"Ah, Turner, you aren't dead yet, I see." Hawthorne laughed mirthlessly as he approached the bound blacksmith.

"So sorry to disappoint but unfortunately for you, I intend to say alive for many, many years." The dark eyes were as resilient and powerful as ever.

Hawthorne stiffened. How could this man stay so strong after hours in the heat and a night in the cold? His ire rose rapidly with each moment the battle of wills continued. "Turner, this punishment was to teach you to be submissive to your superiors. I do not believe you have learned that yet."

Abruptly Will's expression changed to mock surprise. "Oh, really? I hadn't thought of that. I thought this had to do with a man refusing to be forcibly taken from his home and press-ganged into an army he knows nothing about."

Hawthorne was about to vent his rage on the younger man when a cool, calculated voice interrupted. "Mr. Turner, strong words. You best be on your guard. Someone might think you were being treasonous." Colonel Edwards emerged from a hut nearby.

"Colonel Edwards," Hawthorne scraped up the remainders of his poise and saluted him crisply. "I must request permission to lengthen the sentence."

"That will not be necessary, Captain."

"But-"

"Captain, Mr. Turner is a former blacksmith. He is used to discomfort. This will do nothing that it has not already done."

Hawthorne felt his cheeks reddening in frustration. Why didn't he think of that?

"I believe a more suitable penalty is to give him three days in this establishment as a regular soldier. Perhaps here he will begin to accept the offer we present him with. After all, hunting down Sparrow is not such a difficult task. He would be in comfort on board the Waking Power and he would also receive a considerable sum of money upon Sparrow's arrest." Edwards seemed to be speaking more to Turner than to Hawthorne now. "Does that sound so revolting?"

The blacksmith remained silent.

"I see he is determined to go about this the hard way." The Colonel smiled thinly. "Captain, take some of your men and escort Mr. Turner to Lieutenant Briggit."

"Aye, sir." Hawthorne snapped another salute at the Colonel's retreating form and then whirled on Will.

In silence, he let two of his subordinates release the young man and yank Turner towards the barracks.

Oh yes, he thought, you will aid us, Turner. If it takes years, we will get you to track down Sparrow.

--

Jack gazed over the shredded supplies lying haphazardly across the main deck. "Where is that monkey?" he snapped. "I feel an unrelenting need to shoot somethin'."

Most of his discontent rested before him in the form of shattered rum bottles. He would have really appreciated a bottle of that liquid gold to drown his problems in.

And he had problems. Boat loads of them.

First of all there was his ship to repair, supplies to restock, crew to reimburse, an overly sensitive pregnant woman's husband to find, and a debt to-

"Jack! Elizabeth's gone missing." Gibbs, the Pearl's first mate ran up breathlessly.

"Wot?"

"She's gone. None of us had seen her since the storm. I told you it was terrible back luck to bring a woman on board. Now she's gone and brung us a bought of bad weather in her place."

Jack paused, a finger poised over his mouth. "When you say gone…do you mean not present, unavailable, vamoosed or passed on from this life int' the next?"

"Gone as in left, not aboard the Pearl, Cap'n."

"Oh." He didn't sound perturbed at all.

"What do you plan to do about it?"

"Me? Nothin'."

"Cap'n, you know Will…'e isn't gonna like us just leavin' 'er."

The pirate captain grimaced, envisioning the blacksmith's reaction if he ever found out. "Stupid bloody whelp."

--

"Wake up!" Unsympathetic hands heaved Will off his pallet and onto the sandy floor. "I said, wake up, you lousy, sluggish weevil!"

Will could have socked the man in the nose but instead swallowed his anger bitterly and staggered to his feet, still trapped in last stages of sleep before one wakes.

"Private Fredrick needs you out on the western gates. You are to help expand the walls of this outpost, ya hear?" A particularly large man with a wide girth stood before him, an irritated expression on his meaty, pock-marked face and a musket in his fleshy hands.

To answer, Will pushed away the hand clutching the collar of his coat and stumbled towards the door.

The sun was beating ruthlessly on the already dry landscape and it looked to be only just after dawn.

Two pairs of hands fell on his shoulders and he whirled, primed to let loose a string of heated words about how he could find the western gates on his own when a nervous, diluted voice interjected,

"Turner, you will accept the escort provided you." The newcomer had thoughtful, dark gray eyes and emaciated features. It was a sad, quiet face one would see on a somber child.

"And you are?"

"Lieutenant Briggit." The bony young man pivoted to face the portly soldier and his friend. "You may carry on with your duties. Turner will submit or face punishment."

Simmering in wrath, Will let himself be manhandled to the edge of the fort, handed a spade, and told to dig in a designated area.

It was for Lord knows how many hours that he labored under the pale sun. And yet again it was not the heat or the quick pace at which he was required to work it was a nagging sense of urgency to get back home to Elizabeth that left his heart aching.

--

"Charles! This is positively divine! What on earth possessed you to devise such an event?" A woman of twenty-two years gushed at her husband, Charles Blanchard. She was a petite little thing with a delicate face, porcelain white skin, and silky black hair.

"Well, I thought that it was fitting considering we just reached our fifth anniversary."

"You think I need a reminder?" The woman giggled merrily. "Oh, Charles, really this is wonderful! I don't think I've ever seen a ship so beautiful!"

"It is her maiden voyage, Emma, most ships are beautiful before getting roughed up by the sea."

She smacked him lightly, green eyes twinkling. "Charles, stop me such a bore. You know what I mean."

"Of course I did." He leaned in and kissed her gently, his wife, however, returned the kiss politely and then pulled away.

"Charles, really! The crew might see us!" Emma felt her cheeks heating at his embrace and the eyes of the Watcher's crew falling on them.

"Let them look." Charles teased lightly.

"Why I ever married you…" she shook her head in mock distress. "Such behavior is not to be borne."

"Then what is my dear?"

But Emma was no longer listening. "Charles…" her hand clutched at his sleeve, the knuckles turning white. "What is that?" A trembling finger pointed out on the cerulean waves to a floating object still yards and yards away.

Charles leaned forward and squinted against the brilliant sun. "I'm not sure."

"It can't be a…person…can it?"

"Emma, as I have told you before, your imagination is far too overactive." Yet the words lacked fervor and the sympathetic caress that usually accompanied them, his eyes still glued to the object.

"Man overboard ahead, starboard side!" A sentry high above them bellowed.

The color drained from Emma's face. "Charles, do something. Please. What if-"

"I'll take care of it, Emma." Charles smiled at her, pried her fingers loose, and darted down the stairs to find the captain.

Emma remained peering over the railing at what looked like a piece of driftwood and a pile of sodden clothes. Surely pirates had not attacked…surely they were safe…

The "man" turned out to be a woman and as they lifted her onto deck, wrapping her firmly in wool blankets and calling for water to be heated, Emma saw the swollen midsection of the obviously young woman and her breath hitched.

This girl was with child! Five or six months along…possibly seven…it was hard to say with the slight figure.

"Charles!" Emma gathered up her copious amounts of skirts, silently ranting at whoever had invented such an unpractical fashion, and clumped down the steps.

"Emma, please don't worry yourself, darling. You know what I think about that…"

Predictably, his wife had pushed ahead and was bending over the drenched woman who was still unconscious and unresponsive.

"The poor dear!" Emma crooned over the still form. "Charles, we must get her warm." She yanked off her soft cotton shawl and draped it around the woman before her. "She must be freezing in this weather. Here, take her to our cabin." Emma pointed back to their spacious set of rooms in the stern of the vessel. "Yes, that way. Gently, now."

"Emma," Charles took her hand tenderly. "Emma, please. You will wear yourself out."

"I'll be fine." She assured him softly. "I promise." With a quick grin, she turned and followed the entourage carrying the stray woman.

"Charles, what on earth is happening?" A deep voice broke the young man's worried thoughts.

"Emma is at it again."

An older man with a long powdered white wig stepped next to Charles and nodded in understanding. "Caring for others before herself…she does it well, true?"

"Yes, father." Charles's eyes remained on the cabin door where his wife had left his sight.

"And you think too well, I imagine?"

"Yes."

"Your mother was the same way, Charles. Women have a need to fuss over things. I should not think it would hurt to let her tend to this poor girl." He paused, seeing his son's expression. "She does know her limits."

"Yes, she does but often forgets to pay attention to herself, I'm afraid."

"While this pregnancy has been hard for her, I have complete faith that Emma would think of her child before this stranger. Your wife is a clever female, Charles. Trust her in this."

--

Will collapsed onto his pallet, an inch thick in brown dirt. Sweat had created mud streaks on his arms and face, clearing away little paths on his tan skin.

The dark earth had filled into the crevices in his clothing and burned his eyes horribly. Raising one soiled hand, he ran it through his hair, pushing back the short curly strands. Dust and grime fell liberally from the simple action.

He was exhausted but one thing was clear. He was getting out of here. Leaving. Going back home to Elizabeth. This was not the military. It was blackmail and he was through with it. He didn't know when he would make his move and he didn't know how.

All he knew that he had to get out, get away.

**TBC...**


	8. Northwest

Terribly sorry about the two-week break! If you are still with me, have a virtual cookie! Chapters should be updated weekly from now on.

Many thanks to Arquenniel, Telcontar Rulz, hurricane1714, and AKA Parfait! I really appreciate your reviews!!

Disclaimer: All lyrics in this story belong to their respective owners. Not me. :)

**Chapter 8: Northwest**

Emma, of course, had heard nothing of her husband's conversation with his father and was now conferring her full attention to the young woman lying on the bed cocooned in the three blankets.

The girl was obviously of a tender age, likely nineteen or twenty. Her features were pallid in the soft afternoon light but beautiful. Unlike Emma, who possessed a quiet, dainty beauty, this woman was strikingly attractive almost to the point of stunning.

Her hands were slender and calluses lined the skin on the palm but it was clear by the neatly trimmed nails that this girl was of high breeding.

It was a puzzle indeed. The girl was clothed in a fine, creamy white dress that looked oddly familiar and Emma would have presumed this woman was wealthy. But wrapped over the dress was a plain leather overcoat and on her fourth finger on the left hand lay a simple gold wedding band, nothing fancy or extravagant.

Wouldn't a woman who could afford such a dress buy herself jewels or at least a woman's coat? And if she wouldn't why not her husband, since the woman was apparently married?

Ever so gently and shoving away the inquiries pelting her, Emma pulled away the watery tendrils of blond hair away from the pale face and pulled out another blanket to try and wring out some of the icy sea water from the heavy locks.

She had just touched the sopping hair resting behind the girl when the aforementioned woman shot forward, "Will!"

Emma was so startled all normal greetings fled her mind and she stood, dumfounded.

The wide, panic filled amber eyes shot over to where Emma stood and froze. "Will, please, I need him." The slim arms clung around the young woman's womb and she began to sob helplessly. "I need him."

"I-it's alright, miss. Just relax. I'm sure…Will is perfectly fine." Her senses returned and her tongue finally started to cooperate with her mind's commands.

The young woman eyes cleared and she looked at Emma anew. "W-where am I?"

"You are aboard the Watcher. We found you moments ago in the water. I'm Emma Blanchard." To Emma this girl looked precisely like a cornered animal, helpless and frightened half to death. "Do not worry. This is my father-in-law's ship. No one will hurt you here."

The young woman stayed silent.

"Do you…have a name?"

No response.

"Would you like some broth…or tea?"

Nothing.

"Perhaps you wish to sleep…"

"Elizabeth Turner."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My name…its Elizabeth Turner."

"Ah, well, then. It's good to meet you Elizabeth." Emma bestowed her with a warm smile and then turned to leave. "I'll go fetch you something warm to eat."

* * *

Jack had a problem before him. One that even rum couldn't mend.

Elizabeth was missing and he had the unfortunate duty to find her. Huffing and puffing, he'd made his way to the captain's cabin and was now staring at the object sitting in the center of his desk.

His compass.

It would find what he wanted most in the world. The only hitch was that Elizabeth was most definitely not what he wanted most in the world. She was beautiful, to be sure, dazzling even.

But her temper topped that of Scarlet and Giselle.

And she burned rum.

Grimacing, he gingerly lifted the compass and flicked it open, flinching as if it would burn him. "Find the whelp's bonny lass, savvy?"

The compass needle spun in dizzying circles as if to mock him.

He slammed it closed and gave it a firm shake. "Work, stupid thing."

Maybe if his eyes were closed and he said her name over and over. Jack tried again and the result was the same.

Resisting the impulsive idea to throw the thing overboard, he settled instead for giving it a firm whack on his desk.

"I want to find 'Lizbeth." He told the item firmly, "since the whelp would have my guts for garters if anything happened to her. And if anything happened to me then something would happen to you."

He set it in the center of the desk and closed his eyes. "Lizbeth…I want to find Lizbeth." He let one eye slide open.

"Gibbs!" he hollered, staring at his compass as if it would hop up and attack him.

"Cap'n?"

Jack's eyes wouldn't move from that lovely, blessed red arrow pointing in-between a large 'N' and a 'W'. "Northwest, now!"

* * *

"Where is she from? Do we know anything about her?" Charles inquired as his wife bustled around the tiny galley gathering a few things.

"Her name is Elizabeth Turner. She and her husband lived in Port Royal. Her father is the Governor there, you know, Weatherby Swann? Wonderful old man." She grinned, lifted a bowl and began filling it with warm broth from a bubbling pot nearby.

"But do we know anything about her?"

"She's so scared, Charles, scared for William, her husband." Emma dropped the ladle and hugged herself tightly. "To not know where he is…or if he's even alive…" She shuddered.

"Emma," Charles folded her against him, "She is probably exaggerating. Over-tired and under stress. Have you checked for a fever?"

"She isn't making this up, Charles. She told me all about it, details and everything. He is a blacksmith and was forced into the Army." Emma fingered the smooth overcoat her husband wore. "We have to help her."

"But Emma-"

"Charles, what if that was me lying in that bed in our cabin, shivering from the cold, pregnant, alone and worrying myself into a frenzy about you?"

"It's different."

"Is it?" Emma demanded. "Is it really so hard to imagine? That could be me. You and I both know it." She extracted herself from his embrace, snatched up the food, and whirled out the door before he could utter a word.

"Em-" He ended the name, knowing she wouldn't hear him and even if she did it was highly unlikely that she would come back. If only he had remembered how volatile and touchy women's emotions became when they were pregnant. Sighing, he went to follow her. She would calm in a moment and then he would make things right.

If this woman, Elizabeth Turner, needed help he would not be the one to hold back a generous hand if only for a little dark haired woman he called his.

* * *

Rain comes over the grey hills,

And on the air, a soft goodbye.

Hear the song that I sing to you,

When the time has come to fly.

When I leave and take the wing,

And find the land that fate will bring,

The brightest star in the evening sky,

Is your love waiting far for me.

_The Soft Goodbye_

_Celtic Woman_

Will's mind was whirling with thoughts as he punctured the sun-scorched earth with an old spade just outside the outpost enclosure.

He had counted the number of soldiers that morning and as far as he could see it was fairly small. Only twenty men held the area and with the heat strokes they were often lazy.

The previous day the soldier had let down their guard, which was lax at best, slightly to eat their midday meal. Tomorrow, he had been informed, Captain Hawthorne would come to check on him. He didn't know when but he wasn't going to wait to find out.

He was going to run the moment they sat down to eat.

Keeping one eye on the cluster of soldiers, he shoved the spade into the earth again and scooped out the dry dirt.

Moments passed in agony and perspiration began to build on his forehead, sliding down into his eyes. Still, the lunch had not come.

The golden globe of light forming the sun reached its peak and passed it. No meal. Clouds unfurled across the sky. No meal. Rain began to pelt the soil, eroding away the plants and showering trees. No meal. Lighting lit up the sky. No meal and no signal to quit working, only the ever watching eyes.

One guard did speak on Will's behalf though, "Don't ya think we should call it a day? This weather isn't likely to clear up soon."

"Nah, he'll be fine. Do 'im some good, I reckon." The second guard toyed with the tip of the barrel on his musket. "I'd be more concerned about if this gets the powder wet. That'd be right nasty."

The first nodded and held his peace.

Will swiped away his sopping wet hair. He was now soaked through, and scraped out another lump of mud. Yet even as the rain fell an idea pricked at Will's mind.

The guards clearly thought that this weather would impede any escape attempt on his part. Now was the perfect time to strike. They were cold, wet, hungry, and sleepy.

Tense and uneasy, he waited, biding his time in the work.

When the moment came, Will hardly recognized it. A lanky girl in her early teens with a pale face and voluminous blue eyes approached the two guards and mutely held up a steaming iron pot.

They took it, also without a word, and didn't even wait for the willowy girl to leave before dividing the diluted soup between the two of them.

Will let the slippery handle fall from his fingers and crouched in the sheets of rain. The two guards were pouring the weak chowder into bowls.

He sprang towards the woods, wincing each time the mud squelched under his worn boots. The rain seemed almost silent and each smacking, sucking noise the mud made it made Will feel as though it was trying to pull him under.

_Faster! You won't make it if you run like this! _He thought.

_No, quiet! Slow down!_

_No! Quick! They'll never look up from their dinner! Just run! Don't think! Run! Fast_-

"Hey!" The two men's voices hollered from behind, muffled by the rain.

_Now you've done it! Run!_ Will pumped his legs harder, increasing the distance between him and the encampment. The fringes of the forest whipped past in a dark green blur.

Crashing and the noises of wood splintering following him kept the adrenaline surging and he sped on. His mind became machine-like, calculating distances and foliage positions with cool acceptance. He could not afford to panic. Not now. Later that would come. But not now.

Tree. Go left. Bush. Right. Rocks. Right again.

And all the while he kept repeating, _faster, faster_, like some kind of mantra lending speed to his fatigued muscles.

Deep gullies of mud sucked at his ankles, struggling to hold him back. Bushes clung to his tattered coat and tore at the skin beneath the cloth.

There was a loud crack and for a moment he felt nothing at all. Then a horrible spasm of pain knifed up his side and he felt a strange warmth spreading down his side.

Gasping for air, he continued to run and slowly the crashing behind him faded and all was still.

Yet, he did not stop. His legs siphoned energy he did not know he had attained or even its source. Fields, meadows, clumps of tall shrubbery flew past faster than his eyes could register.

Lights bobbed ahead as Will began to stumble. His chest burned and everything was so blurry. Were those really lights?

If only his legs weren't so heavy…he plodded forward a few steps. Was that wood in front of him? Something rough and hard slammed into Will's hand.

The jostle sent Will forward and into something soft yet slightly prickly and smelled sweet. Dots of all colors swarmed his vision. One fresh bolt of pain from his oddly warm side sent him plummeting into agony then a heartbeat later…peaceful bliss.

**TBC...**


	9. Nassau

Many thanks to willabeth0906, Telcontar Rulz, and AKA Parfait for your awesome reviews!!

**Chapter 9: Nassau**

Mariel Woods' mind flew from one subject to another as she entered her family's small but well cared for barn. Cassy, their sturdy, mild tempered milk cow was waiting, as always, in a tiny stall in the rear of the shelter.

Her fingertips skimmed the wooden planks 'round the room while a light tune flew from her lips softly. A bucket dangled from her free hand.

The barn door clattered shut and she pulled open the gate to Cassy's stall open only to freeze at the dark red stains spilling over the clean straw.

Startled out of her song, she dropped her bucket, dark brown eyes darting across the clear space save for Cassy's bulk.

Her heart stopped beating when she saw… "Elaine! Celia!"

The door was pulled open and a slender, dark haired girl of eighteen entered. "Mariel! Shh! Mother isn't getting any better with your yelling."

"Elaine, I'm sorry but-"

The two sisters froze at the sight before them.

"Elaine, Mariel, where did you put the-oh." The newest girl had curly almost black hair and the same golden red highlights as her sisters. The freckles on her nose puckered as she frowned. "How did that get here?"

"Celia, that isn't a thing. It's a human being." Elaine knelt and timidly stared at the man lying crumpled in the hay, blood soaking the ground around him.

"It's a redcoat." Mariel joined her sister on the floor.

"He's hurt." Celia added, noticing the growing discoloration in the man's already pale face.

Elaine, being one of the more rational girls in the world, began handing out soft but firm instructions. Her mother's almost constant illness had given them all knowledge of healing herbs and other such things. "Mariel, get me some warm water and Mama's smelling salts. Celia, fetch the clean rolls of cotton under the cabinet in the parlor."

As the two younger sisters ran to complete their tasks, Elaine started to further inspect the man's wound. It was a round puncture injury far to the right on the redcoat's abdomen, likely from a bullet. There was an entrance and exit wound leaving no lead for her to fish out, an unpleasant task to say the least. The wound was not infected, miraculously, and it was not deep.

Celia and Mariel darted in the barn, faces flushed and breathless. "Here, Elaine. I brought some broth for when he wakes up as well." Celia handed her sister the rolls of fluffy white cotton and a small container of warm broth.

Mariel held a teapot of steaming water and a tiny vial. "Shall we wake him now or later?"

"Later." Elaine brushed back her long, dark brown hair. "No one should have to be awake while their wound is cleaned. It would be heartless to put them through such pain." With that she lifted a swab of cloth, dipped it in the warm water, and gently dabbed the injury.

* * *

The world was dark and strangely comforting. Stars twinkled brightly above him and the sweet scent of grass filled the air.

Will eased himself up on his elbows and watched, mesmerized, as a young girl of seven or eight mounted the crest of the hill.

She had waist length honey blond hair that glowed as the moon beams stroked it. Large sapphire eyes set in a round face and framed by dark eyelashes stared back him curiously. "What are you doing here, sir?" Her voice was quiet and trilled slightly, reminding him of a songbird back in England.

"I don't know," was the truthful reply.

"Don't you remember?"

"No," Will shook his head, "no, I don't."

The girl laughed. "Silly boy, you left your family. Your wife, Elizabeth, isn't it? And a child?" her voice was no longer caring but harsh and mocking. "What a husband you make! The Governor was foolish to believe that you could care for her!"

"No, that isn't true! I did all I could for her!"

She giggled again, "Oh, but you didn't. If you really did care for her you would have died back at the gallows with Captain Sparrow. If it wasn't for you she would never have known poverty, nor the heartache of a husband who has left her."

"No!" Will snapped emphatically. "You are a lying!"

"Poor William." She crowed. "Poor Elizabeth! Poor child! It's too late now."

"No!" The world shimmered horribly then vanished without a sound.

* * *

Elizabeth felt the gentle rocking of the ship slow considerably and slowly raised herself up from the bed. What on earth?

The door clicked open softly. "Mrs. Turner? We've arrived at Nassau."

"Oh. Thank you." She kept her voice calm but inside she was raging. Nassau! Now Will was even farther away!

"I was wondering…" Mrs. Blanchard entered, eyes reflecting curiosity. "I know we not landed in the port you wished as you had already passed Nassau…but I also know that a woman of your condition should not be traveling."

"Mrs. Blanchard-"

"Please call me Emma."

"Emma, I cannot stay here. Surely you must understand that as well."

"I do. But, my dear, you cannot be suggesting that you would risk another storm. Think of the child."

"I am. This child needs a father. And I intend to find that father."

Emma fidgeted slightly. "Elizabeth, I am away of how you feel. I, too, am expecting a child." She paused, obviously unsure of how to proceed. "Please, stay with my husband and I. My father-in-law resides with us but he would not mind in the least. I daresay we have the room and the funds to provide for you most adequately."

Elizabeth's hands stroked her belly, feeling the life stretch its tiny muscles and bat at her womb.

Will always loved the way this child moved, diving this way than that even in the early waking hours when all Elizabeth wanted to do was sleep. He said it showed a healthy amount of curiosity. Will… Her eyes burned at the mention of his name. "I-I can't."

The dark haired woman leaned back on a bureau, looking sadly resigned. "There is nothing I can say to change your mind?"

"I'm sorry, no."

"But you will stay with us until you can locate a ship to find your husband, won't you?" Emma smoothed out her skirts agitatedly. "I want to help you, Elizabeth, please."

Elizabeth thought for a lengthy moment. "Alright."

* * *

"Elizabeth, no, no, please, no."

Elaine forced down her worries and tried to comfort the redcoat thrashing before her. "Sir, it was just a dream. Please, lie still. You will re-open the wound."

"Elaine?" Mariel held one of the man's arms and was endeavoring to hold him still. "Are you sure we shouldn't try the smelling salts yet?"

Celia, who was on the man's other side, voiced her agreement. "I don't think we can hold him down much longer."

"Alright, alright." Elaine sighed and reached for the vial only to find it missing. "Mariel? Where did you put them?"

"Right there." The sixteen-year-old gestured with her head to a cleared patch on the floor.

"They aren't here now."

"What?" Mariel almost loosed her hold on the redcoat's shoulder but Celia's sudden cry of surprise at being the single thing holding him down brought her back to her senses.

"Don't panic, we'll find it. Now think to where you put it last."

"Right there! I promise!"

"No! Don't!" The man cried out and struggled even harder in the girls' grip. "Please!"

"Elaine, find that vial, now!" Celia hissed. "If he continues to yell like this mother will wake!"

"No! Get away from her!" The redcoat surged forward again, nearly prying free from Celia and Mariel.

"That's it!" Mariel let go, snatched the teapot of water, now cold, and dumped the remaining liquid over the soldier's face.

Blood-shot eyes snapped open and the soldier's dark irises darted across the barn, never resting on one thing for more than a millisecond. Chest heaving, he finally looked at the three girls gazing back at him. "Where am I?" he gasped.

"Four miles outside Boston." Elaine laid a hand on his shoulder and gingerly pressed him back into the straw. "You've been shot in the side. You must lay still for it to heal."

The soldier, however, continued to resist them. His eyes were glazed over in fever and a fresh sheen of sweat spread over his bruised forehead. "No! Stop! Let her go!"

Mariel huffed, being the most impatient of the sisters, and grabbed the man's hands, holding them only for a moment but long enough for her to win his attention. "Sir! We aren't trying to hurt you! We only want to help!"

Still panting, he collapsed against the hay and went motionless save for the rise and fall of his chest indicating deep breathing. "Who are you?" he croaked after a lengthy pause.

"I am Elaine, these are my sisters, Mariel and Celia. We found you in our barn this morning."

"T-thank you."

"Lucienne! Lucienne Woods!" A shrill voice reverberated across the barnyard outside.

Celia groaned at the sound. "Mrs. Hickens."

"Mariel, you go and see what she wants this time." Elaine felt suddenly very tired and stretched thin over too many duties. "Do not wake mother for any reason."

"Me? I talked with her last time."

"Celia?" Elaine looked to the youngest.

"But-"

"Celia…"

"Fine, but you owe me." Celia stood and vanished outside.

There was a syrupy greeting then a quiet conversation until a pair of heavy footsteps receded and Celia re-entered the barn.

"Oh, that hateful woman."

"What did she want?" Elaine asked.

Celia plopped down into the straw. "She wanted to wake mother simply to tell her that Mrs. Johnson had her baby."

"Well, that's good news."

"But to wake mother?! Everyone in town knows how ill she is!"

"I'm sure she meant well."

The trio gazed back at the young soldier to see that he lay sound asleep. Not unconscious as before but a deep dreamless sleep.

"Should we wake him?" Mariel inquired softly.

"No, let him rest." Elaine gathered up the supplies. "Celia, fetch a blanket from the left cabinet in the spare bedroom and bring it out here for our guest."

**TBC...**


	10. RumSoaked Plans

Thanks so much to Telcontar Rulz, AKA Parfait, Hurricane 1714, and willabeth0906 for the reviews!!

**Chapter 10: Rum-Soaked Plans**

Jack Sparrow was feeling slightly irked. Well, more than slightly. He was irked. Fuming, in fact.

The port that lay before him was one of his least favorite in the world. Yes, he had indeed sacked all Nassau without firing a single shot but his last trip here hadn't been that pleasant.

A new merchant was in town that fateful day, one with exceedingly fine taste in rum and other alcoholic beverages.

Of course, Jack, being a rum connoisseur, had to…"sample" the stuff to determine whether it was fit for the public to consume. Unfortunately, things had gotten…a bit out of hand…

Grumbling all the while to himself about the bloody stupid whelp and his bloody damsel in distress or distressing damsel, the last two depended on his particular grammatical mood, he ordered Gibbs to lower a longboat.

"Cap'n," the scruffy first mate land a heavy hand on Jack's shoulder, clearly unnerved and twitchy. "I don't mean any disrespect but, uh…do you think it be wise to be landing 'ere? What with the…" he halted, seeing the crew's curious stare.

"What? Spit it out man!"

"What with the…you know…and all that."

"Simple complications, Mr. Gibbs, that will ensue more complications and all will be overcome. After all," He let his signature grin spread over his face, revealing a few golden teeth, "I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow. I always, always win, savvy?"

"Aye, cap'n."

And so it was that near supper a slim longboat glided into the bay of Nassau guided by a queer looking man. The tiny vessel scraped up against the dock and the man climbed out and began lurching down the docks.

No one even thought to look up. This was the last rush before heading home. Bags, crates, and all other manner of containers were exchanged from man to man, loading them onto ships and taking empty boxes and barrels off.

No one noticed when the same odd man entered the local tavern and sat in the rear of the establishment, slouching in a rickety old chair. After all, in Jack's estimation, if a solution to the problem does not present itself, drink rum and all sorts of ideas will be opened to you.

"What will it be?" A bar maid with smooth brown skin and wide dark eyes asked brusquely.

"Ah, rum."

She sidled off and returned with a full mug, plunked it on the table, not noticing the amber splash of color it had created on her beige dress, took her payment, and vanished behind the counter.

"Company here is bloody overflowin' wif welcome." Jack muttered into his mug and took a long gulp of the wonderful stuff.

Several hours and many, many, many drinks later, Jack staggered from the tavern, head brimming with schemes to find Elizabeth.

* * *

Elizabeth gazed at the room given her in a spacious mansion in the richest neighborhood of Nassau. It was massive, bigger than her room back in Port Royal when she lived with her father.

It was a lavishly furnished room. Clean, cool white sheets covered the bed and soft mesh hanging from the bed frame kept the bugs out.

A wardrobe in a corner of the room held a pile of dresses, all cut for a pregnant woman, and a carved chest sat near the balcony leading to a breathtaking view of the sea.

Opposite from the bed a small desk rested with several sheets of clean paper, ink pot, and a sharp quill lying neatly on the smooth wood.

"Is the room sufficient for you, Mrs. Turner?" Charles entered cautiously, Emma at his heels.

"Oh yes!"

"I have started to inquire with the local merchant ships. You should be on the way to your husband within a fortnight." He smiled at her.

"Thank you, both of you. This is really very kind of you and if there is anything I can do to repay it…"

"Oh posh." Emma fluttered a hand. "It is nothing."

"We intend to have you as a guest while I find passage for you." Charles gently interposed.

Elizabeth let a small grin peek out tremulously. "Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you."

* * *

Hours later Elaine, Mariel, and Celia returned to the barn to find the young redcoat still sleeping heavily.

"Mariel, help me get this filthy coat off." Elaine reached for the crimson jacket stained with blood, mud, and heaven knows what else.

The two sisters tugged and pulled at the cloth until at last it lay in a heap by the door. "Finally." Celia scooted towards the man with a dish of water and a clean rag handing Elaine the supplies before turning to feed Cassy.

"I wonder what his name is." Mariel pondered as she pulled a wispy piece of straw out of his dark hair. "And who is that Elizabeth he keeps speaking about?" The girl shrugged and helped her younger sister with a small bale of hay for the milk cow.

"Obviously someone special to him. Now," Elaine halted her movements as her eyes fell on splotchy bruises encircling the man's wrists. "What happened here?"

Celia and Mariel looked up from feeding Cassy. In a minute they sat by Elaine. "Oh, that's horrible!" Celia lightly fingered the red abrasions.

"Where do you think he got them?" Mariel settled herself next to the man.

"Who knows…"

Mariel watched as Elaine checked the bandage. "Is he going to be alright?"

"Yes." Elaine sighed gratefully. Redcoat or no. A life was saved. "With rest, he will recover."

"You know…he is not bad looking…for a redcoat." Mariel murmured after a pause. A light crimson hue fell over her cheeks.

"Mariel! He's married!" Celia held up the man's left hand, letting the sun beams fall on a simple gold band on his fourth finger.

"I didn't mean that! Only that he has a pleasant face."

"Remind you of someone?" Celia grinned almost wickedly. "A certain farmer's son, perhaps?"

" Celia Marcia Wood!" Mariel yelped and dove for the youngest sister, who shrieked in mock fear and scrambled out of reach.

"Mariel! Celia!" Elaine tried to intervene and somehow found herself in the middle of scuffle.

Celia was giggling so hard she could barely breathe. Clambering to stay our of her riled sister's grasp was difficult but not impossible as she was not restrained by a corset.

Elaine finally pried the two apart couldn't help grinning at their gleeful and annoyed expressions. "You will wake him." She nodded at the quiescent soldier. "Celia, don't talk about your sister like that. Mariel, I don't want to ever here those foul words out of your mouth again. Agreed?"

Mariel nodded a bit sullenly and straightened her attire. "But you must concur that he is handsome." She added after a moment's thought.

And while neither of the other sisters acquiesced, they did not protest or say anything to change that conclusion.

* * *

Life, it seemed, would never stop sending Elizabeth surprises. Nor would it let her be free of the formal dinners she'd attended under her father's roof.

An incredible sense of déjà vu filled her as the maid fussed over her hair and the dress, ensuring that every golden curl, every satin fold was in perfect order.

Charles and Emma had insisted that she join them and a few friends for a small dinner party later that evening. Elizabeth would have declined but Emma was so excited to have her there that Elizabeth couldn't find it in her heart to crush her hostess' hopes.

Now as she felt the firm stays of the dress hugging her expectant figure, she began to doubt the wisdom of her decision.

"There." the maid gave the honeyed tresses piled on Elizabeth's head a gentle pat. "You look as pretty as a picture." She presented her with a sweet smile.

"All because of your handiwork." Elizabeth returned the smile, even if it was a bit forced. There was no reason to take her frustrations out on the poor maid.

The maid blushed prettily, bobbed a curtsy and took her leave.

Elizabeth sat back in her chair before the mirror, lacking the strength to move. She watched listlessly as the door clicked shut. Her reflection now stared back at her.

The maid had indeed done her work well. Soft curls framed the porcelain skin of her face, while two stray curls tumbled over her slim shoulders. Elizabeth also had to admit that Emma had very fine taste in gowns. Fine lace trimmed the neck and sleeves of the resplendent blue fabric.

However, they did nothing to raise her spirits. The prospect of several hours spent pushing food around her plate and pretending to be perfectly alright drained her of any energy she might have had.

Her only consolation when she attended such functions in Port Royal lay solely on the shoulders of Will. But not even that comfort was afforded to her now. She would be entirely alone today.

Her eyes flicked to the window at the dismal expectations for the evening. And suddenly she could picture an evening much like this, when the perils of a dinner party lay before her. Yet that time, he was with her.

_"I was thinking of investing in the Americas. Cotton perhaps. Or tobacco." A dry voice commented as a pair of jeweled hands twirled a silver spoon._

_"The Americas?" Another gentleman leaned forward, a half amused, half incredulous expression on his face. "Why, that's preposterous! They'll never amount to anything! Mark my words, good man, and save yourself the trouble."_

_Elizabeth looked from person to person as the tedious conversation dragged on and on. She would not have minded it so much had it been the first time she'd heard it. As it was, the good Lord Dewbaker and the honorable Kinler had already worked and reworked this topic enough that Elizabeth could practically quote it._

_Her eyes fell on Will and she couldn't help but smile. He looked like he, too, had completely lost all interest in the discussion and was in search of something, anything to occupy his mind._

_He, oblivious to her attention, tried to surreptitiously tug at the linen collar of his suit while still trying to maintain an air of interest. And he succeeded for the most part._

_If one missed his hand and the slight grimace, no one would ever have guessed that William Turner was madly uncomfortable._

_The moment passed and Will's face became inscrutable. But his eyes wandered. The dark orbs finally ceased their roving when he caught sight of the candelabra in the center of the table. They narrowed and his face seemed to tighten with an indescribable impression of concentration._

_Elizabeth immediately recognized the look. It was the one he adopted when scrutinizing his latest piece of blacksmithing, the sheen of a radiant blade, or the edge on a sculpted candelabra such as this. She had unofficially named it his 'work face'. For when that man started to work with that face almost nothing would deter him._

_Amused, she waited to see if he could find any flaws in the elaborate light stand because when that he did find a fatal fault with any of his work, his head would tilt two degrees to the right. If the work was considered perfect, therefore finished, he would lean back and the lines in his face would ease._

_Elizabeth never found her answer to whether the candelabra was fit or not for the conversation took a new turn, one that pointed it directly towards Will._

_Will who, at the moment, was entirely tuned out from the world._

_"Mr. Turner." Kinler repeated, looking on the blacksmith rather darkly._

_The young man started as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped down his shirt. "Yes?"_

_"I said, what is your opinion of the Americas?"_

_"Um, well," Will cleared his throat uneasily and gave his collar another tug. "I hadn't really given the matter much thought."_

_"Indeed?"_

_"Though it does seem to me that they have reason for what they ask of the King."_

_"__Indeed__?" Kinler's tone became profoundly shocked._

_"They merely ask for a chance to govern themselves. Considering the distance from England to the Americas that does not seem overly outrageous."_

_The poor older man couldn't find any words to express his astonishment. He settled for a loud blustering myriad of syllables._

Elizabeth laughed a little at the memory. Will had spent the rest of the evening being badgered by older men trying to change his mind. When they finally resigned themselves to Will's view on the matter, they dismissed to the study for some brandy.

She still remembered the warmth of his arms around hers as they tried to plunk out the melody of a random song on the pianoforte after the older company had left.

"Miss?"

Elizabeth turned to see the little maid standing in the doorway. "Mrs. Blanchard would like you to know that dinner will be served shortly."

"Thank you."

The maid smiled and left.

Elizabeth sighed and slowly strode from the room. The stair case lay just ahead and beyond that was the grand entry and the dining room.

The child within her stirred and Elizabeth placed a hand on her swollen stomach. "I agree, little one. This will be a dull evening, indeed." She said in a low tone.

A minute later she was standing in the dining room with several wealthy couples introducing themselves to her.

"My husband has invested in the sugar cane business and we just bought our fifth plantation in the West Indies." Mrs. Woolburn swelled slightly and reminded Elizabeth uncannily of a peacock fluffing its gaudy feathers. "He has such a mind for business."

"Indeed." Elizabeth remarked dryly.

Mrs. Woolburn didn't seem to know what to make of that statement. She changed the subject instead. "Do you live in the area?"

"No, my husband and I live in Port Royal."

"Port Royal? Oh, how lovely, I have a friend there. Sweet gentleman. What estate does your husband own?"

"We have no estate. My husband is a blacksmith." Elizabeth informed her.

"No estate?" Mrs. Woolburn looked like she'd swallowed a bad egg.

"Yes."

"I see." And then she gathered her skirts, as if they might be contaminated if Elizabeth touched them, and muttered an excuse before swishing over to the main group of ladies.

Elizabeth felt a touch of ire fill her at that woman's snooty reaction to Will's profession. Personally, she believed that blacksmithing was a good, honest living, one that no one should be ashamed to have.

But before she could stand alone in the corner for long Emma came up, her silken skirts rustling with each step. "Elizabeth, darling, don't stand over there all alone. I shan't stand for it. Come now, I'll introduce you to Prudence. She's a dear sweet girl."

Elizabeth couldn't help thinking of how long a night this would prove to be. She was right in that respect for Prudence was exactly what her name eluded.

She barely said two words together, instead sitting quietly in the corner and smiling serenely at anything that twitched.

Hence, Elizabeth had to listen to the older gentlemen argue and banter over the latest business prospect. Most disgustingly, their business seemed to center around the slave trade and that sent the food churning in her stomach.

She tried not to think long on it but Prudence left her little choice. Noting Emma's quiet disapproval of the topic, she firmly set her mind to happier things and struck up a conversation with her petite host.

Yet the things she heard that night would stay with her for many months to come.

**TBC...**


	11. Spiteful Rum

Many thanks to my reviewers, AKA Parfait, lady angst, and Telcontar Rulz! You make my day!!

A/N: This chapter introduces a few linguistical challenges...so, to try and make those as insignificant as possible I've placed translations in '/'. Like this: Bonjour. /Hello./ Hopefully, I didn't lose any of those.

**Chapter 11: Spiteful Rum**

Blurry images gradually permeated Will's vision and a thatched roof came into focus. Soft, heavily accented, musical voices chattered above him.

Fending off a headache, he lifted a hand to shade out the bright sunlight. He felt as though someone had taken one of his many hammers back at home and went at his head like it was pliable metal.

His sight cleared and the image that faced him was almost frightening. This wasn't the military compound… Three female faces were leaning over him, none of them were actually watching him. Instead, they were talking rather animatedly in a flowing language. They were all very similar and refreshingly attractive.

"W-who?" Will frowned at the raspy, uneven edge to his voice. With a tongue that felt remarkably like a block of wood, he wet his lips and made to try again.

But the girls beat him to it. One hissed at the others in her lilting tones, "Il est éveillé." /he is awake/

"Who are you?"

"Parlez-vous le français ?" /do you speak French/ A younger girl asked.

Was it just his brain or were their words foreign? He thought they spoke English over here. "I'm sorry, what?" he ground the words out from a parched throat.

"Il ne doit pas savoir le français." /I don't think he knows French/ A girl holding a small jar seemed to chide gently.

"Please, could I have some water?" If they hadn't killed him yet they probably had a good reason. And if they had a good reason not to kill him they wouldn't let him die of thirst.

"Celia, allez chercher de l'eau. /go fetch some water/"

The smallest of the girls scampered off and the one who had just spoken continued. "I am Elaine Woods. My sister, Mariel, she found you this morning. I am sorry we cannot better accommodate you but you must understand. Our house is very small and our mother very ill." Her words blended slightly with the next.

Will tried to smile at their thoughtfulness. "Thank you."

"Monsieur, if you don't mind, I need to ask why you are you here? Shouldn't you be with your regiment?"

Will paled. How could he tell them that he was a fugitive? Surely they would turn him in…it would be more than foolish to do otherwise. "I…was separated from them."

"Is there any way we can help you find them?" Mariel asked, an apprehensive expression etched on her features.

"Ah, no, no." Will stammered quickly, maybe too quickly. The sisters exchanged a look. "Thank you for your concern but I will be able to track them on my own." His voice cracked at the last word.

Elaine turned to her sister. "Où est Celia? Elle devrait être revenue à ce moment-là. /Where is Celia? She should have returned by now./"

The other girl shrugged in response.

There was a loud creak and then the smallest lady re-entered the barn. "Je suis désolé. La mère s'est réveillée. Elle a eu besoin de plus de médecine. Je suis venu aussi vite que je pourrais, cependant. /I'm sorry. Mother woke. She needed more medicine. I came as quickly as I could, though./"

"Peu importe. Vous êtes ici maintenant. /No matter. You are here now./" Elaine waved a hand, took the glass of water, and offered it to the redcoat. Will, in turn, gratefully accepted it. "This is Celia." She pointed to the girl who had brought the water.

"Monsieur, do not drink the water so quickly. Your stomach will not handle it well." Mariel pointed out softly.

Will nodded his appreciation for the thought and with greater self-control sipped at the cool water. "I am William…" could he tell them his last name? No, surely the English would come after him. They had gone through too much to lose him now. But what name could he offer as a substitute?

The answer came by the trio's approving nod. Apparently they did not need a surname. "We are pleased to make your acquaintance."

"And the same to you."

Elaine watched as the last drops of liquid slid into Will's dry mouth. "Mariel, recevez un autre verre d'eau s'il vous plait. /Get another glass of water please./"

"D'accord. /alright/"

"What is that?"

"What, monsieur?"

"That language you all speak?"

"It is French, the tongue of my mother's people."

Mariel returned at that moment with another glass.

"Merci." Will felt the strange word fall poorly from his mouth. Elizabeth had been well versed in French and had tried to teach him a few of the words. He had never caught on well to it. There were just too many extraneous letters and sounds.

Though poorly enunciated, the three young women beamed at his effort. "You are welcome, monsieur."

* * *

Jack Sparrow fiddled with the trinkets dangling at his waist and peered at the mercantile across the street. Where in the bloody Caribbean was Elizabeth hiding herself? He knew she had been missing from his ship for around twelve days.

He had been waiting for nigh unto three hours, strolling down alleys, keeping hidden, and watching. He wasn't particularly worried about Elizabeth, as she seemed capable of handling herself, but if Will ever found out that he had left her behind…well, let's just say Jack wasn't too eager to get into a sword fight with the fiery blacksmith any time soon.

He reached down and snagged his compass, flipping the lid and staring down at the needle. It pointed straight into the heart of the city. But if there was one drawback to his compass it was that when you got in the close proximity of the item you searched for…the particulars became muddled, to say the least.

Doubts began to assail him. Maybe it wasn't Nassau she would have shown up in…perhaps she was as far down as New Providence…perhaps he hadn't really thought of Elizabeth and only Elizabeth…

He frowned and lurched towards the bay.

* * *

Elizabeth checked the thin hat, much like the ones she had worn as the Governor's daughter, on her sun bleached hair and ensured that it was in place. It was.

Dainty lace on a bit of woven straw provided little shade from the warm sun but Emma assured her it was necessary. In Port Royal she had been able to stretch the rules ever so slightly but here it could not be done.

The carriage beneath her rocked and shook as it continued on its journey to the docks. Charles had declared that it was gratuitous for her to accompany him. Yet she had insisted and he had relented, seeing no harm in the venture.

And now while she was jostled by the inadequately attended path Elizabeth began to reassess her emphatic request on being part of the vessel inquiries.

Her stomach reacted rather poorly to the movement and she was feeling considerably nauseous. Clutching her belly, she clenched her jaw and determined to keep her breakfast in place.

Charles had gone ahead and that was a mercy for she would not like anyone to see her struggles to keep from retching.

"Oh, heavens", she murmured to herself as a large bump threw her up into the air a few inches. She pressed her back into the carriage seat, eyes tightly shut and wishing to melt into the cushions.

She was just about to call to the driver to halt when the coach, mercifully, came to rest. Not waiting for the large driver to extricate himself from the front seat she yanked open the door and tumbled out, barely landing on her feet.

"Ma'am?" He looked slightly shocked.

Knowing how she must appear she plastered on a cool, calm exterior and serenely said, "I shall not need your further assistance, good sir, but I thank you for your pains." Furtively, she smoothed her skirts, tidied her hair, and rechecked the superfluous hat.

"Twas no pain, ma'am." He tipped his hat.

"I assure you, it was." Elizabeth clamped her sweaty palms on the bodice of her gown and took several deep breaths. When her stomach ceased its violent rocking, she looked back up at the bewildered driver, gathered the shredded remains of her dignity and asked, "Where might I find Mr. Blanchard?"

"He'd be over there." The man jutted a fleshy finger towards a neat building a few yards away.

"Thank you." She nodded vaguely, afraid to send her stomach plummeting into more convulsions.

"Good day, ma'am." He tipped his hat again, clicked to his horses, and disappeared in a cloud of thick dust.

* * *

Jack squinted as the sun beam's hit him squarely in his dark eyes but did not let that impede his sauntering gait towards his Pearl. She was hidden behind a vast cluster of palm trees and a sloping hill near the docks.

He wasn't all that afraid of anyone recognizing him because after all, he was Cap'n Jack Sparrow. He'd taken this port before and he could take it again. He wasn't exactly sure how but he believed in not planning on something until it popped up in front of one's nose.

Most of his brilliant ideas came from the spontaneous energy of the moment. True, some of his contrived strategies did not turn out so wonderfully but they made excellent stories to boast of in the taverns.

Jack Sparrow was known for being egregious and many a drink he had wheedled from some rum-soaked lump of pitiable life by telling his latest and greatest adventure. And while he may have tampered with the facts just a tad, they were needed to amplify the grand account.

He moved down a particularly well lit passageway behind what appeared to be a storehouse of some type and had to cross into full sunlight to get to the wooden planks over the seabed and then the Pearl.

Grinning about what a narrative this would make, he crossed out into the open and steered himself directly towards a ship he recalled belonging to Captain Blanchard.

He'd just take a quick peep on how his ole lordship was doing in the merchant bid'ness…

One thing, however, halted his steps, one thing in a light blue dress, frilly hat, and up-done hair. Ducking behind a cart full of barrels he let loose a low string of curses.

What was Elizabeth doing with them? His ranting died off seeing a deep amber droplet of liquid hanging from a spout on one of the barrels. Could it be?

He sniffed it. It was! Ahh, the sweet scent of rum! Elizabeth could wait a moment. Obviously, she wasn't in a life threatening dilemma, unusual for one with her luck.

Cupping his hands together, he managed to collect a little of the golden alcohol and slurp it up greedily. Yes, the quality of Mr. Blanchard's rum had not decreased at all. He'd know this superb beverage anywhere.

He pivoted so he could better loosen the spigot on the barrel and began tugging. Two or three hard jerks later, he changed positions as the spout hadn't moved. Again he pulled and twisted.

An odd noise caught his attention and he peered around the cart edge to see one barrel teetering on the lip of the wagon bed.

As if talking to the barrel would still it, he began, "No, no, no, no, no, no." He pressed his hands together and waited as the barrel's wobbles increased in volume and force. There was no possible way for him to reach it in time and it would not do for the barrels to tumble into the middle of the docks.

Yet the barrel seemed to have a mind of its own and (Jack could have sworn it was out of spite) the round object wavered one last time and then tumbled free, a host of barrels right behind.

"Oh bugger."

**TBC...**


	12. Turning Fortunes

Many thanks to reviewers Telcontar Rulz, willabeth0906, and AKA Parfait!! I love reading your comments!

**Chapter 12:Turning Fortunes**

Elizabeth strode off the Orient's Lady with a heavy heart. Another dead end. The frigate was neat but poorly crewed and it would take almost three weeks for them to reach Boston. Charles tried to be optimistic, for her sake, but none of the kindly meant words did anything to cheer her.

"One more prospect lies just over there." Charles pointed to a long, sleek vessel named the Dragon Spirit. "It is a sloop that runs near the orient but, I am told, it will deposit a load in Boston next week. Shall we speak with the Captain?"

"Yes, please." Elizabeth tried to keep her eyes as bright and hopeful as his but they were slowly dimming. Letting him take the lead, she walked slowly, gaze falling on the busy wharf but not really taking in anything.

A racket to her left caused her to turn and see a pile of barrels fall from an unattended cart onto the dirt road and, sustaining enough momentum, towards the main street of Nassau.

"What on earth…" Charles began, taking a few steps forward in the direction of the queer mishap.

Elizabeth, too, was oddly intrigued. Was that a bit of red? Silently, she rounded the corner to see Jack Sparrow crouched behind the now empty cart, tensed and just about to spring away.

Daring a glance behind her shoulder, Elizabeth saw Charles hollering something and directing a group of sailors to run after the escaped alcohol. "Jack!" she hissed at the barely hidden figure, over the commotion flying rum barrels had induced.

Jack did not hear or refused to acknowledge her call.

"Jack!!" she repeated, a hair louder.

He spun this time to see her standing next to him.

"It is you!" She was so enlivened by the chance to finally get to Will that she flung her arms 'round the pirate captain's neck and hugged him.

"Um, Elizabeth, love, cool it." Jack pried himself loose. "I'd love to stay and chat but now that I've found you, the bloody whelp won't have me heart on a platter and instead I can leave peaceful-like. So, if you'll excuse, pardon, acquit, absolve, bloody exonerate me. I'll be heading to me ship." He spoke this all in a matter of moments and whirled to depart when Charles, having finally organized a recovery party for the rum, spoke up.

"I say, Elizabeth, do you know this man?" He sounded angry and indignant.

Elizabeth, who was still grasping the idea that Jack's vocabulary was that large, stammered, "I-I met him…a few years ago…"

A cluster of sailors gathered around Jack, Elizabeth, and Charles, trapping them in a tight circle of bodies.

"This man is responsible for ruining some of my father's prize rum!" Charles' eyes were smoldering in fury.

"Your father, aye? So the ole coot did settle down, did he?" Jack eyes froze on the barrel of a gun stuffed under his nose. "As it were…" he added meekly.

"How do you know my father?" Charles demanded.

"Through a series of unfortunate and entirely unforeseeable circumstances I 'appened to run into 'im."

At the young man's confused stare, he elaborated, "Literally."

"When?"

"A while back."

Charles took another route of questioning. "What is your name?"

"I've a lot of names, which one will you be wantin' to know?"

"You are Jack Sparrow, aren't you?"

"That could be technically be one of me monikers."

"You were the one that almost ruined my father's business five years ago! Not to mention pilfering the trunk containing my wife's wedding gown! She cried for weeks at that loss." Charles stuck his pistol further into Jack's face. "I should kill you now."

"Charles," Elizabeth chose that moment to intervene. "Please, you don't know what you are doing. Let him go."

"Elizabeth, this does not concern you."

"Yes, I'm afraid it does."

"Knew you'd warm up to me." Jack smirked.

"Shut up, Jack." Elizabeth gently laid her hand over the gun barrel. "This man saved my life last year. I cannot let you kill him now."

Charles looked back and forth from her to the pirate captain. "He is a criminal, Elizabeth. It is my duty as a citizen of Nassau to turn him in to the proper authorities."

"While I can respect that, Charles, surely there is some way for him to repay you that does not involve blasting a hole in his forehead."

"I second that..." Jack was about to continue but seeing Elizabeth's icy glare fell silent.

"He has the fastest vessel in the Caribbean. I can barter passage with him and get to Will without causing you any additional trouble." She reasoned.

Charles appeared scandalized by the idea. "Elizabeth! He is a pirate!"

"And a good man."

"But you cannot possibly mean to tell me-"

"Sir, you have been most kind and generous, however, I will be leaving with this man and I would appreciate him alive and well."

Charles gaped at her for a full minute before removing the firearm and replying. "I understand. But I would have this scoundrel repay me for the damaged goods both today and five years ago."

"I'll jus' fetch me gold an'-"

Charles laid a firm hand on Jack's shoulder. "Not so fast Sparrow. What I require is not so easily attained as silver or gold."

"What might you require," The pirate lingered for second then put in, "your lordship…"

"I insist that you relay a boat load of supplies to the American rebels near Santiago and then an associate of mine down in Guadalupe. You tell me you retain control over the fastest ship in the Caribbean, let us see you put some weight behind your words."

"In principle, it was your darling friend Elizabeth that said that."

"And you would disagree with her?"

"No!"

"Then do we have an accord?"

Jack looked at Charles' outstretched hand as one would look at foul water (or in Jack's case, rum). Slowly, he extended his own brown hand and shook the other's lightly.

"Your debt with me will be dissolved the moment those supplies reach Santiago then Guadalupe and the money given in full to a colleague of mine there." Charles gave a grim smile.

"A colleague?"

"Yes, a man by the name of Henry Jones. Have you heard of him?"

Jack winced. "I have."

"The port in St. Augustine will be heavily guarded."

"But when has that ever stopped Cap'n Jack Sparrow, mate, think abou' it." The pirate's previous unease dissipated.

"Very well. I release you, Sparrow, on Miss Elizabeth's request and the promise that you will in fact take those supplies."

"I'll jus' be off then." Jack whirled to leave and once more was restrained.

Charles laughed dryly. "Sparrow, you didn't think I'd really let you go now? Do you think me so dense?"

Jack held up a finger with a fat oriental ring perched on it. "Would that be a rhetorical ques'ion?"

Charles pointedly ignored him. "You will show us where your ship is berthed, watch while we load her with the supplies, and then you will sail immediately to Santiago and Guadalupe. And if those supplies never make it, I will make your life hell, am I understood?"

"Perfectly." Jack half smiled, half grimaced.

* * *

Three weeks flew by as the three young women cared for Will in their barn. They smuggled him food and sometimes stayed and chatted with him kindly, though their accents caused some confusion for Will.

He was indeed a lucky man as the injury was not deep and had healed remarkably fast. Apart from that, it had closed over well, though it was still tender.

Things finally were looking up. Will was planning on heading south as soon as he could to a rebel controlled port where he would negotiate some kind of passage back to Port Royal and Elizabeth.

Elizabeth…each day she filled his thoughts more and more. Her half pout when she was annoyed. Her brilliant smile when she was happy. How her gentle touch eased away the tightness in his shoulders after a hard day's labor. The way her eyes glittered each time the baby moved. Her calming presence by his side. Her kind reassuring words. Her sweet but equally fiery spirit.

Yet, it her voice that tormented his mind the most while reminiscing. Soft, soothing, musical in one moment, serious in another, and erupting in giggles the next.

He could remember the way she had said goodbye, accepting, sorrow-filled, but trusting. Her eyes had followed him down the lane. He knew that without ever looking over his shoulder.

Staring up at the slatted ceiling, he resolved to ask the trio of young women to give him a task to keep his mind away from his lovely wife. The boredom was driving him half mad if he did not think of her and it was too painful to think of her often.

The door clicked open as if open request and Elaine, Mariel, and Celia entered quietly. "Monsieur?" Elaine inquired, she was always the first to speak.

"Yes?"

"We have brought you dinner." Celia handed him a bowl of steaming soup. Chicken and bits of vegetable floated in the golden broth. One thing he had learned in his stay here. It was that these girls knew how to cook.

"Merci." Will's accent was much better though his vocabulary had not increased much.

They sat in silence as he ate. When they had brought him his first meal had unnerved him to see them watch his every move while dining but now it was normal.

He, too, was able to learn from them in this quiet spell. Elaine was obviously the oldest sister. The one all the others looked up to. She was the most rational of all of them but never let anger slip into her voice. Mariel was spontaneous and bubbly. She spoke her thoughts the moment they came to mind yet smiled often and was almost always laughing. The youngest, Celia, seemed to always have a trick up her sleeve. Her dark eyes danced with mischief and she was terribly clever.

Will let the last of the soup fall into his mouth and savored the warm, smooth taste it procured. "That was delicious."

"We are glad you enjoyed it." Elaine took the empty dish and traded it for a small roll wrapped in a thick cloth.

He had just taken the first bite of the heavenly bread when there was heavy thumping down the road, signaling the approach of horsemen.

"Here, Mariel, help me with this, would you?" Elaine handed her sister the other end of a bale of hay. "We'll take it to Cassy."

Mariel scooped up her half of the prickly grasses and they maneuvered it outside with no little amount of difficulty as the strands kept slipping from their grasp. Eventually though they made it through the door.

Will looked questioningly at Celia.

She seemed to understand and said, "No, monsieur, you need not move."

Not in the mood to argue, Will sank back into the straw and waited. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

Mariel and Elaine pulled the heavy bulk of hay unto the back of an empty wheelbarrow just as a troop of about thirty soldiers rode, in a thick haze of dust, into their little farm.

One man, with glinting gold embellishments on his crimson uniform, was riding at the head, an indomitable expression on his face. He halted his stead and stared down at the sisters imperiously. "Good afternoon, ladies, we have reason to suspect you are hiding a fugitive."

"Parlons-nous seulement le français? /do we speak only French?/" Mariel inquired softly.

Yet before Elaine could respond the official said, in a perfect French accent. "Je suis sûr je ne sais pas, mademoiselles. /I'm sure I don't know, ladies./"

**TBC...**


	13. Decisions

Thank you, thank you, thank you to reviewers, willabeth0906, and AKA Parfait!!

**Chapter 13: Decisions**

Elaine struggled to regain her poise, but it was difficult as she felt as though her feet had been knocked out from underneath her. Her hope that they could feign innocence and avoid any unsavory situations had been shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Search the house and barn, bring out anyone you find." The man commanded tersely.

"Please, no!"

Elaine quickly took over where her sister had left off, hoping to repair whatever damage had been caused. "Our mother, sir, she is very ill! She cannot be moved!"

"You should have thought of that before you 'forgot' how to speak English." He said with a tone as slick as butter.

Mariel and Elaine watched in horror as the house and barn were flooded by troops and they could not do anything to hinder them. "Elaine," Mariel whispered, shocked, "Je suis désolé, je ne sais pas… /I am sorry, I did not know…/"

"Shh, Mariel, s'il vois plait. /please/"

There was a loud exclamation in French and moments later the door banged open and out tumbled Lucienne, clad in a pure white night gown complete with mob cap.

"Maman!" The sisters shrieked as she toppled over into the long, thick grass just past their porch.

Another loud scream came from the barn and out came Celia, hair tousled and furious. "What is the meaning of-" her words fell short seeing the official on horseback and her mother sprawled on the ground.

The official evenly pulled leather gloves from his hand and stared deliberately at the three girls. "Where is he?"

"Who?" Elaine managed a confused expression.

"William Turner." He dropped the name clearly, carefully watching their expressions.

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Perhaps you will…" the officer waved at two soldiers who leveled their muskets at the three sisters, "now."

Celia's head lifted faintly but a swift warning glance from Elaine silenced any words she may have spoken.

The officer dismounted smoothly, stared about him, then shouted, "William Turner, if you are on this premise, you will reveal yourself to my men and cause no difficulty or these lovely young women's deaths will lay on your conscience."

There was a pause.

"Colonel Edwards!" Will's accented voice carried clearly across the wind. "I would have thought you to be a gentleman." He stepped out from the barn. "But threatening helpless women is hardly chivalrous."

"It seems, I, too, need to reconsider preconceived notions, Mr. Turner." Colonel Edwards stiffened, seeing that none of his men were around Will. "Killed all those men by yourself, did you?"

"Who said they were dead?"

"Come, now, this has gone long enough. Surrender."

"Let them go first."

"Very well. I shall prove to you that I can, indeed, be civil." At his signal, the guards lowered the firearms. "I have kept my end of the deal, Mr. Turner, will you honor me and keep yours?"

"I would hardly call it an honor to be in your presence but I am a man of my word. Do not harm them." With obvious reluctance, Will moved from the shadow of the barn.

Soldier rushed forward, grasping tightly at the blacksmith's arms and shoulders. A few cuffs and blows later several burly soldiers clamped his wrists into a thick set of shackles even as another set of soldiers scuttled into the barn and returned with the unconscious forms of two redcoats.

"Excellent." Colonel Edwards smiled thinly. "O'Connor," a gangly aide urged his horse onward to be handed a heavy coin purse. "See that Mrs. Hickens receives her reward for turning a criminal."

The young soldier assented quickly then spurred his horse to the white cottage next door.

"Now, onto chastisement." Faster than a blink of an eye, Colonel Edwards raised a pistol, aimed it, and fired.

"No!" Will lurched forward, dark eyes flashing in fury, and his captors had to fight to keep a firm grip on his shoulders and forearms.

Lucienne's pale face crinkled in pain and her cornflower blue eyes lost their vibrancy then she slumped to the ground, a round hole, spilling blood, in her heart.

The three sister's faces were the meaning of shocked. For a moment they all stood there, motionless, until in one burst they darted towards her, shoving past the redcoats.

Will, however, was satisfied with a heated verbal thrashing. "Coward! How could you do that?! I surrendered!" He knew at this point that it was useless to contest the soldier's powerful clutches but he couldn't help pulling at them anyway. "You promised you wouldn't hurt them!"

"If you recall I never specified who 'them' was. You should be grateful I did not punish you further for your rebellion and shot them all." The colonel was ever calm, ever icy, and ever unyielding to giving any mercy.

The three sisters cradled their mother's already cold body in shaking hands. "You have no decency, sir!" Mariel shouted, blind with tears.

"I believe I do. You hid away a fugitive of the law and rebukes must be doled out. Even so, be consoled, mademoiselle, for it could have been your heart that the bullet pierced."

Mariel hid her face in her mother's nightgown, fighting back more frenzied accusations.

"Take him away." Colonel Edwards nodded to the guards holding Will then pivoted to face the girls. "It has been a pleasure dealing with you, mademoiselles." He bowed tersely then mounted and rode away, leaving the three sisters, sitting in their front lawn, holding the body of their mother.

* * *

The prison within the British camp was in surprisingly better shape than the quarters Will had been sleeping in. They were by no means accommodating but they were dry and the bars detaining him were well crafted.

Will would have searched the every inch for an escape route but it seemed the British had wizened up. A guard was posted twenty-four hours a day and so far his eyes had never strayed far.

The young blacksmith exhaled noisily and slid farther down the wall, the crudely cut stones digging into his back. He had watched the patches of light on the floor, streaming from a window hacked high in the wall and barred with strips of iron, creep from the hallway and the guards lap to the tip of his toes and the straw covered floor.

Sunlight was beginning to fade and the quiet squeaking of mice had become a soft chorus echoing down the corridor. In moments, the light would die away all together and he would be left in darkness.

A loud clanking sound reverberated down the stones. Will straightened uneasily. Long ago he had memorized the prison noises and this was not one of them.

The edgy feeling multiplied when his guard stood, heels snapped together and polished musket raised in salute.

"Bring the prisoner." A long-faced man in uniform drawled.

The door grated open and two men entered with a set of manacles. "Hands out." The first commanded curtly.

Deciding that it wasn't worth fighting, Will dispassionately let them grab his wrists, watching as they fastened the metal, the lock falling into place with an ominous click.

* * *

Elizabeth felt an immense sense of relief to step aboard the Black Pearl again. It felt right, as if the pieces of her journey to find her husband had just fallen into place.

Breathing deeply of the briny air, she turned full into the wind and savored the bright sunlight. There was no corset or stuffy clothes to restrict her now.

She had managed to find a large pair of breeches, a wide shirt, and the leather overcoat. The change in attire was not something that she rued.

Now all that need to be attained was Will. And, with a knowing glint to her honey brown eyes, she turned towards Jack. He had just the thing to get them to Will in short duration.

* * *

It was to the sound of clattering irons that Will was escorted into Colonel Edward's office.

His anger had melted away leaving behind a lead like weight of hate for this eerily cunning and cultured man.

"Ahh, Mr. Turner, I'm pleased to see that you could be swayed to join us." The Colonel turned from the open window, a benevolent smile painted on his clean-shaven face.

"If by saying swayed you mean brought in shackles and under gunpoint then yes, I am."

"Captain Hawthorne," Colonel Edwards took a deep breath, lifted a thin tome, opened the cover, and droned, "I believe our guest needs a small 'aide memoire' of who holds his fate."

The man almost leapt forward, a feral light in his expression. With a horrendous sneer he eagerly threw his fist into Will's unprotected stomach.

Dots of color, all sizes and shades, filled Will's vision and for a long moment all he could do was gasp air into lungs that seemed to have forgotten how to function.

The heavy blow had glanced off his still healing gunshot wound and the tenderness of that injury made itself know in volumes.

"Captain," The Colonel glanced up from his book, "I should think that your duties in this instance could be carried out with less zeal." He commented as if the action was tedious or dull, after seeing Will heave for oxygen.

Hawthorne's eyes darkened in rebellion but he wisely responded, "aye, sir."

"Mr. Turner, multiple times we have brought an offer to you-"

"I told you I would not comply." Will rasped, his vocal cords also recalling how to force out sound.

"Then perhaps it is time, we up the 'ante' if you will." The colonel set his manuscript back down on the cluttered but impeccably neat desk, his fingers lingering on the leather cover. "You were apprehended on the property of Mrs. Lucienne Woods, formerly married to James Woods and once a citizen of France, not overlooking her…offspring, of course, who also hid you from His Majesty's officials. We all are aware of the just punishment for what transpired. Mrs. Woods received hers but I have yet to dole out reprimands to her daughters…"

"We agreed that if I turned myself in you wouldn't harm them. You already violated that accord when you murdered Mrs. Woods." Will snarled, not caring at this moment if he did obtain another beating.

"If you will bear in mind, Mr. Turner, that I said nothing about that if you did not cooperate that I would not refrain on a latter day from serving justice."

"How can you call this justice?! This is a mockery of justice! This is blackmail." Will dropped the word like a well placed blow to heated metal. Perhaps it would change their tactics. Though, Will thought grimly, it was not likely.

Unfortunately, his intuition was correct. The colonel smiled coldly, "Quite right, Mr. Turner, and this time you will adhere to our commands."

* * *

Four hours.

That was all he was given to decide, the lives of the Wood girls or Jack's. The Wood girls had saved his life and for it they had lost their mother but Jack was a long time friend, almost a brother.

Will's head felt as though it had doubled in size, bruises littered his torso where Hawthorne had decided he needed to hasten the conclusion to Will's choice.

The soldiers had also opted that the manacles would become a permanent part of his wardrobe as they had not removed them but instead locked him in his tiny cell and walked away, the same guard as before staring him down.

So, it was with festering animosity that Will sat in the decayed straw and thought about the choice before him.

He could choose to refuse and the Wood girls would likely be killed. Or he could accept and track down Jack for the British.

In his heart, he knew which one he had to choose but it still made the final call no less difficult. He also understood that Jack could get himself out of practically any fix but then again he had already gotten into several scrapes that only Will could pry him out of.

There was a commotion at the door and as Will glanced up he saw the sun low in his cell floor. Had four hours passed already?

Captain Hawthorne stepped into view, a spiteful smirk playing on his lips. "So, Turner, have you decided?"

* * *

"Jack!" Elizabeth stepped up to the pirate captain as he directed the Pearl out of the bay. "Jack, I need something from you."

"Do you now?"

Elizabeth pointedly ignored his remark. "Your compass. I need to borrow it."

"An' why would that be?"

"To find Will. It's the fastest way."

Jack turned, letting Gibbs take the helm. "'Liz'beth, listen. Didn' you hear what ole' Charles said back there?"

"Since when does Jack Sparrow take orders?" Elizabeth demanded.

Jack gave a half-hearted shrug. "Maybe I wan' to try it for change."

"Jack! Listen to me! It wouldn't take long to retrieve Will! I know it wouldn't! I can feel him close by! Jack, please."

"I'll take you to your whelp if you'll help me. That was the agreement, savvy?"

Elizabeth's lips compressed. "But what about Will?"

The pirate captain regarded her with the most sincere expression she'd seen.

"We'll get him back."

**TBC...**


	14. First Clash

Thank you, thank you, thank you to reviewers, Arquenniel, AKA Parfait, lynxlan, willabeth0906, Nicole Kazan, Telcontar Rulz!! I really appreciate all you have to say!

**Chapter 14: First Clash**

Will's head was kept high as he was escorted back on board the Waking Power. The two guards at his side shoved him towards the helm and never once did they loosen their vice-like grasp.

A knifing sensation filled his belly both from the abused gunshot wound and the overwhelming feeling of guilt.

"Turner, I believe you need to provide us with our heading." Hawthorne grinned sunnily. After all, this rebellious young man was on his ship for an unspecified amount of time and no restraints as to the youth's physical condition.

All his orders contained were that the pirate be captured. No particulars. No plan of action, besides using the blacksmith's knowledge. Just arrest him.

Will stared ahead icily, making a point to ignore the haughty captain.

"Need I remind you of what is at stake?" Hawthorne pointed a thin finger back to the Wood girls, being manhandled to the brig. "At any moment they could end up like their mother…and I'm sure you wouldn't want that."

Letting his gaze finally drop, Will swallowed uncomfortably. The three sister's lives could not be forfeit on his account. It was the right decision…but then why did it feel so wrong?

* * *

Jack was particularly content with the present situation. In one sooty hand he held a heavy bottle of rum, the thrumming wood of the Pearl's helm under his fingers, and the satisfaction of being Captain Jack Sparrow filling his veins.

The winds were perfect, the sea couldn't have been any bluer, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

The great vessel beneath him shifted under the breeze's caress and he unknowingly reallocated with it. A slight pressure of his fingers changed the course by a degree, adjusting to the ocean's patterns.

Everything was indeed faultless-a high pitched holler shattered the peace-or not. That voice he knew well…too well.

Sinking slightly, he closed his eyes and wished desperately to become part of the wood before him.

"Stupid, disobliging rope! Jack!" hurried footsteps approached.

Jack cracked one eye open and immediately stifled a rather unpleasant explicative that came to mind. Elizabeth, hair askew and eyes flaming with irritation, stomped forward, a coil of line in her hand.

"This ludicrous rope won't tie properly!"

"Love-"

"Are you saying it's my fault?!"

"No-"

"Jack! I can't believe you! Here I am doing my best to get to Will and you are disagreeable over how I tie off a line!"

"Lizzie-" He tried again. No such luck.

"Don't call me Lizzie!"

"Elizabeth-"

"What?!" she fairly roared.

"'ave you ever considered rum as an alternative to 'arrasing me crew?"

"Jack Sparrow!"

"Captain," Jack offered meekly but she apparently didn't hear him.

"How can you say that?! Will would never accuse me of such a thing!" Her eyes watered and suddenly she began to cry, quietly at the start then morphing into a full fledged sobs.

Jack, feeling remorseful at her distress, awkwardly took her in his arms only to be slapped full on the face. "Oi! Wot was that for?"

"You devious coward! Keep off me! I am not a strumpet! I'm not!"

"Elizabeth…love, bloody cool it."

"I'm so sorry, Jack." Her trembling hand traced the raised welt from where she had clouted him. "I'm so sorry…" her heartbroken sobs turned to hiccups. "I'm-hic- so sor-hic-ry..."

Wordlessly, Jack decided that she was overworked and that Will really owed him a good lot of rum when this was over. He took her quivering hand and led her to his cabin. Surprisingly, she was docile and did not even speak…save for the periodic hiccupping.

She was tucked into his thin cot and only when he spun to leave did she speak again, this time though he didn't think it was meant for his ears and the source of her anguish was made clear.

It was so softly spoken one could have missed it, "Will…" It was whimper of a woman lost in concern and misery. A woman worried for her livelihood, her child, and her husband.

* * *

Ah, Tortuga.

Home to the vagabonds of the Caribbean. Smoke, sweat, and rum's odor devoured the place, enveloping all inhabitants in its caustic stench.

Its dizzying streets were lined with dark alleyways, hooting pirates, and other filth. Laughter poured from the bars like the pungent and ever present stink. But it was not a truly mirthful sound.

It was the sound of intoxicated louts, the forced noise created by a rabble of heart-broken vagrants who had forsaken moral character. It was the clatter, jingle, and roaring of tramps.

And to Captain Hawthorne it was sweeter than any symphony.

He had not the men to overtake the haven, if it could be called that, but the sight of it filled him with a thrilling sort of capriciousness and instability.

The impulsive decision to do something solely because you wanted to…it was a most tempting thought.

"Captain?" A lackey questioned timidly, jumping when his superior turned. "Garret and Bradley couldn't find any sign of Sparrow."

Hawthorne's upper lip curled in disgust. "Bring Turner to me."

* * *

"Where is he?" The captain snarled.

Will knew precisely what information he wanted but acted ignorant just to irk the navy man. "Who?"

"Sparrow!"

"He's not here? Pity that…"

Hawthorne's face turned purple. "Your life is not the one at stake here, Turner, else you would be dead."

The threat did its work well.

Will's eyes narrowed, anger making them appear hard as steel. "He is a pirate. His paths are his own."

"Paths that you have traveled down, pirate."

The young blacksmith remained silent, averting his gaze.

"Turner, I am not like Colonel Edwards. I will hurt them if you do not oblige…and then again, I might hurt anyone because I am a cruel man. Yet, cruelty is all a matter of perspective." Captain Hawthorne grinned again, edging on lunacy with the brightness of it all.

Will looked at him as if for the first time. "You are worlds different than Edwards, I completely agree. He is intelligent whereas you are not."

"You push too far, Turner! Give me a heading or one of those brats in my brig will be dead by morning!"

Swallowing his rage, Will finally offered a new destination. "Try near San Juan."

* * *

Gibbs did not believe he was overly superstitious, in fact, he thought he was rather giving when it came to the supernatural and luck.

And to him, this day boded ill for all. It chilled his aching bones and sore muscles. The wind smelled of ruin and, if possible, foretelling sorrow.

The sea, too, was resistive under the Pearl's hull. It beat at the dark wood, as if telling her to flee.

Not only was the weather abnormal, the crew was eerily on edge. Jack was hunched in a corner reacquainting himself with a load of rum. Marty was obsessing over a simple knot. Elizabeth was mercifully sleeping in the Captain's cabin, but even that was odd for the pregnant woman.

The knowledgeable sailor faced his job with renewed trepidation. And that trepidation turned to crude fear with a dot on the horizon.

"Cap'n?"

Meetings with other ships this voyage had only produced more strife. Cringing, he watched as his captain mounted the steps to the main deck.

Gibbs couldn't find the words to tell Jack that another ship was fast approaching but instead nodded in its direction, expecting his superior to discover the heart of the problem.

Jack was silent at first, mulling over this new development in relative calm. But when the dam broke it broke completely. "Why doesn't the bloody King come and visit me hisself?" He stomped back down the stairs, howling at the crew.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth, face still groggy from slumber, appeared from the Captain's cabin.

"Gibbs?" she asked, one hand lying protectively over her womb.

"We have company, Miss Elizabeth."

Confusion wavered in her features for an instant until she caught sight of the approaching ship. "Who does she belong to?"

"Marty!" Gibbs bellowed. "What be her colors?"

"She's British!"

"Mary, mother a' God." Gibbs tightened his grasp on the Pearl's helm. "They've found us." He redirected his attention to Jack. "Cap'n, orders, sir."

Jack didn't move, frozen at the word British. Though, Gibbs knew better. His commander's conniving mind never ceased its schemes, whether it be getting out of the latest quandary with the Navy or how to perch his tricorn on his dreadlocked hair.

"Cap'n?"

"Ready the guns. We aren't gettin' out of this 'un wif'out a fight."

Gibb's couldn't have been more shell shocked if Davy Jones himself broke the ocean's surface next to the Pearl. "Cap'n?!"

"Run out the guns!" Elizabeth echoed, not fazed by the order.

Gibbs had often been surprised by the young woman's spunk and fire but this was almost too much to digest. Years of voyages beneath the jolly roger, however, kicked in and a business like efficiency took over his mind. "Do it, ya lazy curs!" He left the helm to Mr. Cotton and clumped down the stairs to the main deck, moving to aid Marty with an unmanned cannon.

They had fought the British before and they'd do it again. And if it was the last day he sailed on the Pearl then so be it but he wasn't going down to see ole Davy without a good fight.

* * *

Will knew the moment they were approaching the Pearl. For that was the moment he was dragged from the helm to below deck, Captain Hawthorne smiling smugly the entire time.

"I believe thanks are in order, Turner, our prize awaits us. A pity you cannot be a part of the welcoming party. I'll just have to make certain that they join you." He laughed dryly. "Come now, don't look so dismal. I'm sure they will be more than glad to see you, their betrayer."

A myriad of colorful insults flooded Will's mind but a word of advice bestowed on him years ago entered his mind as well and stayed his tongue. _'Wait for the opportune moment.'_

"Ah, so I do not even receive a departing insult." He tsked. "No manners at all." Another chuckle filtered through the dank air in the brig, rumbling even after the Captain left.

* * *

The Pearl was an imposing figure with all sails extended to billow in the winds. Her sleek bow and obsidian hull sliced through the turbulent waters, prepared to meet her enemy head on.

The Waking Power's rounder figure gave her slower time but the strength within her build was not to be ignored. Her white canvas was let loose and she plowed forward, intent on destruction.

Light bounced off the weapons on both vessels attesting to the fact that these were deadly tools of war, unforgiving and harsh.

In minutes, the two mighty ships' paths crossed and in a roar the Pearl struck with hot iron first. Her massive bellow of cannon fire ripped into wood, flesh, and canvas.

Not to be outdone, the Waking Power threw her gun power into the fray, digging the opposing vessel's side. Her tone was even louder than the Pearl's, reverberating and whining with sheer potency.

Smoke enveloped the two combatants like a shroud and swallowed up all else save the flashes of molten metal, crackle of splintering wood, bloodcurdling screams, and death.

* * *

Will yanked at the shackles curbing his movements, disregarding the trio of sentries posted around his now locked cell.

The roar of battle filled his ears and with each dying shriek he felt his stomach twist into a tighter knot.

Frustrated at the craftsmanship that had formed the chains he pounded a fist onto the wooden flooring. He had expected at least one spilt, one tiny fracture, one miniscule fissure creeping across the steel like a strand from a spider's web, any weakness to be exploited. That was all he needed to pry the offending bonds off. But there was none. The work was flawless, whole and entirely unbreakable.

The guards had apparently noticed his increasing wrath and held their guns tighter, leveling the barrels and sights on his heart but slowly edging away from the bars as though he was some caged animal to be cowered at.

Everyone turned at the sound of thumping. A soldier burst past the base of the stairs and into the infinitesimal, soppy room containing the four cells, one of which imprisoned Will.

"Walters! Harrison! Private Walters requires you at the gun deck straight away." The pale man gasped, holding to the wall for support.

"But Captain Hawthorne-"

"He said to leave the prisoner!" the man paused for a deep breath, "Kerrigan will watch him! Hurry man!" he beckoned further with an impatient wave of his hand.

Shrugging and clearly eager to escape Will's presence they lifted their rifles and fled the room.

The messenger waited a moment for a few more quick gulps of air before he tramped up the stairs after them, leaving Will and 'Kerrigan' alone.

**TBC...**


	15. Forebodings

I can't tell you how much I love your reviews!! Thanks to Telcontar Rulz, Nicole Kazan, lynxlan, hurricane1714, AKA Parfait!!

**Chapter 15: Forebodings**

When there is love then you look for the one...

...and for the promises there is the sky

...and for the heavens are those who can fly...

When there's a journey you follow a star

When there's an ocean you sail from afar

...and for the broken heart there is the sky

...and for tomorrow are those who can fly

If you really want to you can hear me say

Only if you want to you can find a way

Only if you want to you can seize the day

Only if you want to you will fly away...

_Only If_

_Enya_

Elizabeth yanked her sword free of a soldier and dodged another blade whistling her way. Her balance was off due to the child resting within her but her fury at being separated so long from Will was making itself manifest, equalizing her agility.

Glancing up, she saw ropes snagging on the Pearl's rigging and shrouds. Planks landed firmly between the two ships, setting down a firm crossing point.

Red uniforms swarmed the decks, intermixed with a heap of dissimilar colors as the soldiers and pirates clashed.

One face stood out from the rest…Hawthorne.

If she thought she was furious before than she was greatly mistaken. For a moment all she could see was crimson. Rushing forward, she plowed past pirate and soldier alike, fixed with rapt attention on the man responsible for her lengthy division from her husband.

Searing lead zipped past her head, screaming from the intense speed, and then snapping as it made contact with whatever unfortunate substance lay in its path.

In minutes, her feet smacked the Waking Power's main deck, unscathed but as fuming as ever. Hawthorne would pay whether by her hand or another.

Justice would be served.

* * *

Most of Jack's plans relied heavily upon luck and luck alone. Of course, they had always made fantastic tales of feat and bravery but right now he was feeling a bit like the whelp.

Without a drop of luck to his name.

He grimaced as another soldier made a sloppy attack on his left. These bloody fools weren't any more competent then their fallen predecessors.

Didn't the Royal Navy teach their men to fight?

A deft twist of steel later and the man did indeed join those who had passed on, bequeathing Jack with a free moment to further ponder his poor fortune. The mere idea that Captain Jack Sparrow might be defeated by such a crew...it made him shudder.

The only way he was going down to see ole Davy Jones was...well, not like this. It had to be something memorable. Something to last the ages. Not some droll tale about how a poorly trained Navy crew managed to outnumber the crew of the Black Pearl.

How on earth Jack was given such a shabby hand he didn't know, he did know that it was time for the oldest and noblest of pirate traditions.

To run.

And that he could do with ease even if Mother Providence gave him no aid.

* * *

A pounding growl filled the belly of the Waking Power, raising in pitch and becoming a high hum. The planks groaned and quivered in comeback and the entire ship shuddered as a result, one could almost imagine it was a living being.

Kerrigan, as with each previous crash, jumped as though it was the Kraken itself coming to devour him.

Will smiled grimly, this would be the most opportune moment he could get. Throughout the blasts Kerrigan had slowly shifted, unbeknownst to the very young sailor, towards the cell, his coat tails brushing the interlocking metal.

Praying another detonation wouldn't startle the soldier into awareness, Will slid his shackled hands through one square of the iron bars, painfully aware that any wrong move would send the chains clanking merrily.

He dared to breathe as his palms came within inches of the marine's temples. Quick as a wink, he clasped the young man's skull and yanked it back, causing Kerrigan's head to collide with the bars that confined Will.

Will's heart sped up in hope at the sight of Kerrigan slumping to the waterlogged floor, eyes showing only the whites and his spine as firm as jelly.

Checking the man's pulse, he found that he had indeed only knocked the marine unconscious. Fumbling with the promise of freedom he stuffed his bound hands into Kerrigan's coat pockets.

When his rough fingers closed around cold metal he felt the exhilaration of success. He wrenched the key out and easily fit it into his shackles. A sigh of relief tumbled free at the sensation of being released.

Acting as fast as he could he pulled Kerrigan's hands forward and entrapped them in the cuffs. Then, he turned his attention to the door.

The key he used for his chains didn't fit but he was a blacksmith and this door would be manipulated.

His eyes roved the area, searching for any piece of long, thin metal. It only had to be about three inches long…

* * *

Hawthorne dispatched another pirate coolly. His raging temper was sated with each crumpling corpse.

It was a rather morbid pleasure, true enough, but he was content. His blade was now crimson with the life fluid of vagabonds and it glittered cruelly as it spun it his palm. A whistle of metal caused him to turn, meeting a specter of golden hair, flashing amber eyes, and cool steel.

"You!"

Hawthorne met her sword with his own and realization dawned upon him. It was Turner's annoying wife!

"Where is my husband?" she raged.

"Why should I know?" he slid their weapons to the side sharply, grinning sadistically when hers drove a lengthy groove along the ship's railing.

Her heavily pregnant but still lithe body yanked it free and swung wildly, bestowing her with more force than normal. "You took him from me! Now, tell me where he is!"

Yet his only answer was a ferocious grin. He was knowledgeable in swordplay and she would learn that the hard way apparently.

However, there was one thing he had not counted on, and that was the weight behind each blow. She was not fighting just for herself. No, there was a cause much deeper than that.

Blasts bombarded the air and wood around them, sending a shockwave with each explosion and hampering everyone's focus.

It was on one of those discharges that Hawthorne let down his guard for an instant.

She attacked ferociously, knocking away his blade and laying her cutlass against the vulnerable flesh of his neck. "Where is Will?" she spoke each word slowly and dangerously. "Tell me and I might ease your passing."

"A motivating invitation, to be sure, but the influence of said offer is dulled in a new light." He lifted a pistol, hidden beneath his coat and pressed the barrel to her temple within the space of a second.

She tensed but did not back away.

"Let's talk of other things, shall we?"

She regarded him as one would a misbehaving child.

"Perhaps, we should speak of your husband then…" his grin turned wicked. "Such faith you have in him."

"He is my husband." She snapped, fire leaping in her eyes.

"In that case, I believe it is my duty to tell you that when I found your 'husband' after he refused to do his duty and ran like a coward he was lying in a barn with three French wenches."

She remained silent, her sword pressing farther into the soft flesh of his neck. Her knuckles were pure white and her lips formed a thin line.

"Is really so faithful as you believe?" He leaned in, letting his nose rest bare centimeters from hers.

Something in her face changed, he couldn't tell what but suddenly he knew he'd gone too far. "You are a cowardly liar!"

"Am I?"

"You tell me." She snarled back, upper lip curled in disgust.

"Very well, he is on this ship." Hawthorne reveled in the emotions flashing past each other in her eyes. "He is the very one we used to find your precious friends."

She recoiled ever so slightly. "You speak lies, all of them...you only wish to hurt and to cause pain! You care for nothing! You are heartless!"

Hawthorne's temper rose to match in all its incensed glory. "Why you little-" A cannonball shredded its way past their heads, crashing into the mizzenmast.

All of the sudden, he was flying backwards. Then everything went dark as his head made contact with some firm matter and he was flung into the throes of unconsciousness.

* * *

Cotton had been a bold man. One would not know it from his actions for his will to take action and argue was stripped away at his inability to speak.

Slowly he became more and more reserved, letting other take the lead and falling back into mindless submission. Rum and nourishment lost all their flavor save for the caustic bite of bitterness.

But when he joined the Pearl's crew things changed…the queer captain would come speak to him, often rambling nonsense but he figured he knew more about that man than most.

However, she was the first to actually care about him. She was the first to smile when she saw him. She was the first to genuinely care about his health and well-being. She was Elizabeth…

A memory of the previous night flickered across his aging mind…

_She had been watching the stars above them, hands wrapped around her midsection. She hadn't seen him at first, so absorbed was she in the light of the heavens._

_"Oh, Cotton, I'm sorry, I didn't know you…" she paused, "I thought I was alone."_

_He turned, thinking she wished solitude._

_A warm hand, slender and smooth, caught his shoulder gently. "Please…don't leave." She blushed as his gaze met hers. "I-I don't much like being alone."_

_He regarded her curiously. What could she mean…he offered a noiseless companionship. What solace could be found in that?_

_"I know it's strange…" she laughed nervously, fiddling with the lining of the leather overcoat. "But ever since Will…" she looked to the sea._

_Cotton wavered, unsure of how to continue and the parrot perched on his shoulder was mercifully quiet._

_"I suppose I just miss him." She smiled hesitantly. "I'm sorry Cotton. This is rather rude of me. I'm sure you don't want to hear the ramblings of a worried wife." Her hands shifted to stroke her belly._

_The parrot bobbed his head and squawked, "Shiver me timbers!"_

_Tenderly but awkwardly he reached forward, not knowing what else to do, and patted her shoulder._

_Almost immediately she turned back to him, a real but still containing a somber edge grin gracing her features. "Thank you," her just above a whisper._

_They sat silently for a moment, absorbed by the late night beauty, until Elizabeth shifted. "Oh!" she pressed both of her hands against her stomach and a slight trickle of laughter pressed past her lips. "Cotton! He's moving again." Her eyes lifted and in them he saw such boundless love for her child and husband, such exultation of joy and thrill of the little one's movement._

_Clasping his weather worn hand she set it upon the lump. For a minute nothing changed. Then, it repositioned._

_Cotton sat if frozen. Slowly, he removed his palm but sat staring at the appendage as thought he hadn't really felt the son or daughter move in her. _

_He looked back to Elizabeth, their eyes meeting, and in her bright orbs he seemed to read the answer to his unasked question. He __had__ felt the new gift of life within her._

_He had felt what a husband and father should feel…and it was magical. That thought alone caused his broken heart to mend even just a little. He had loved years ago but his love had ended before it had really begun. But this vibrant, strong woman had let him into her personal experience with her first child._

_And finally, he allowed himself to realize something he had long thought but never really believed, this girl and her offspring were quickly wheedling their way into his heart as the descendants he had never been blessed with._

The images faded and he saw her, honey colored hair sprawled over the deck and sparkling amber eyes hidden from the world.

In a wordless cry, he bolted forward. She had a life to live, a child to raise, and a husband to love.

The cutlass in his hand became a whirl of silver as it cut a path to her side. Bending over, he touched her cheek.

It was warm.

Still worried for her health, he let his hand hover over her mouth, waiting until he felt the calm cadence of her breath to retract it.

Her eyes fluttered and suddenly she was staring up at him, the orbs of color glassy but somehow still bright.

"Cotton?" she queried softly.

He nodded.

She pulled herself into a sitting position and abruptly stiffened. "Cotton! Will! He's here! He's on this ship!"

Cotton tightened his grasp on the sword's hilt. He beckoned for her to stand.

She did so, lifting up her forgotten blade. "I'll search the higher cabins. You take the lower."

He nodded again and watched as she barged into hold. Something deep in his gut told him that this would not go well…

**TBC...**


	16. Loss

Hello all, and welcome to chapter 16! I know I thank reviewers every chapter but I just want to emphasize just how much I appreciate you taking the time to tell me what you think, good or bad. So, a massive, massive thank you to AKA Parfait, hurricane1714, and my first anonymous reviewer WillsElizabeth23!

WillsElizabeth23: Thank you so much for the review! You're very right about Cotton's forebodings. :) And now you get to find out how right you were!

**A/N:** Alright, everyone, this chapter makes me nervous...if there is anything I should change please tell me, okay?

**Chapter 16: Loss**

Will was getting increasingly frustrated in his search. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. He had searched the soldier's pockets and every inch of his cell. All he had found was a substantial amount of sea water and a strip of string.

There was a clatter of footsteps and Will tensed, fully expecting to be shackled and later beaten for his failed escape attempt.

But what he saw was entirely different.

Cotton thumped down the stairs, his parrot shuffling uncomfortably with each step.

"Cotton!"

When the old man caught sight of Will he lunged forward. He seemed to want so say something. But that, of course, was impossible.

"I need the key to get out of here. Do you know where it is?" Will asked hurriedly. He had been locked in this cell long enough and there would be time for pleasantries later.

Cotton shook his head.

Will stifled a frustrated growl. "Do you have a blade or something I can use to pick the lock?"

The elderly sailor poked through his clothes for a moment before lifting exactly what Will had wanted, a lengthy tine of steel. It was worn but it would suffice.

Seconds later there was the satisfying clank and the door pushed open.

* * *

Elizabeth pounded down a corridor, heedless to the noise above and around her. Her heart seemed to beat one syllable over and over. Will, Will, Will…he was alive. And he was on board this ship.

Banging open another door she whirled in like a hurricane, tripping over herself in enthusiasm of perhaps discovering her husband.

The room was empty.

She tore back out, resolute not to be disheartened. The rooms farther down the hall were ravaged by her wild search by resulted in no findings. They were all empty and cold.

Mind spinning, she thought over what she had not explored. Only one place came to mind. The captain's cabin…

* * *

Mariel pressed her spine farther into the wooden cabinets, wishing that she could vanish into the fibers of oak. The horrible shrieks of battle caught in her ears and somehow managed to stay there. Echoing and repeating dreadfully until she thought she might scream herself.

Her sisters huddled right next to her, white faced and as silent as the watery graves they were likely to find themselves in if the combat did not reach a peaceful resolution.

They had not heard or seen from anyone since they moment they were shoved in this room. A pot of stew, or at least what she assumed was stew, was poked through the door once a day along with a pitcher of clean drinking water.

Voices and shadows sometimes crossed the window panes of the narrow double doors leading to the cabin but never once could they make out what was being said.

Sometimes the voices sounded remarkably like Will's accented tone and other times they almost imagined they could hear Hawthorne bellowing some order.

But never on one occasion could they really be sure of what their ears were picking up.

Mariel shivered at another cry of some poor man. These sounds truly made one's flesh prickle and stomach clench.

Pressing her eyes closed, she pivoted away from the noises and tried a final time to think of anything else.

Bang!

The three girls jumped at the thud of their door opening.

Sunlight hid the face of their rescuer or killer. A long blade shone as the figure moved forward.

Could it be?

"Monsieur Turner?" Mariel asked before she could stop herself.

Celia seemed to have the same idea and she stood, Elaine quick to follow.

The figure did not answer but did not leave.

"Is that you?" Celia questioned, voice growing in strength.

Instead of replying, the stranger spun and fled. They could only catch a glimpse of long golden hair and a slim but obviously pregnant outline before they were forced to defend themselves from a flow of combatants suddenly flooding their haven.

* * *

Will felt the most relieved state of being come over him then he had in weeks. It was like taking a sip of warm chocolate after a long day in the cold, feeling the heat spreading through his veins and easing out the tension.

Feeling as if weights had been taken from his weary shoulders he pulled Kerrigan into cell, locking him inside and finally turning to leave.

Together, he and Cotton mounted the steps, reaching a landing another flight of stairs below the main deck.

Will placed his hand on the railing and was about to move when a groan split the air. He turned in time to see a redcoat standing over the elderly pirate who was writhing in pain.

He darted back only to stop after two swift steps. After all, he had no weapon and the soldier was armed with a thick cutlass.

The only thing he possessed was the long spike of metal used to pick the cell door. Balancing it carefully in the fingers of his left hand he bent and scooped up a splintered plank of wood with his empty right hand.

The soldier was eyeing him carefully and when Will lifted his two 'weapons', the frightened redcoat charged.

Warily catching the blows with his mixture of metal and wood, Will managed to defend himself from the first bout. However, his splintery plank was quickly becoming a splinter itself.

The young soldier, though he looked half-starved, could definitely put some weight behind his assaults yet his form was elementary in strategy.

Nevertheless, one thing, Will decided, that was useful for dueling someone was to actually have a blade for one's self. His objective now had moved from stay alive to get a sword.

Catching the man's wrist he let the spike slide from his hand and in its place worked on prying the sword away or at the very least free.

His opponent was not dumb, though, and did not take too well to the idea of being weaponless. He wrenched the sword this way and that way, barely missing Will's abdomen but managing to cut a thin abrasion across his cheekbone.

Feeling the burn of a wound, Will's efforts doubled. He muscled the man to a wall and in a last twist, heard the sword clatter to the floor.

Deftly, he darted away, retrieving the blade, and faced his now unarmed opponent.

Grimacing in what could only be rage, the soldier yanked free a hidden dagger and stepped to pounce on Will when a roar swept past.

With a gurgle, he, instead, crumpled to the floor, a piece of shrapnel imbedded in his gut.

Will nearly sank to the deck in exhaustion but stifling the urge calm his quick breathing, he went back to Cotton. Bending over, he turned the old pirate's body, hoping to find that somehow the man had survived.

It was not to be.

A neat and horribly deep gash across the belly was Cotton's demise.

Will's hands were now coated in thick blood already cold from death's icy touch. The very air reeked with killing. Cotton's parrot hopped around aimlessly, blathering nonsense.

There was a slam then another person shot down the stairs, nearing colliding with him, wildly curly blond locks framing a golden face.

"Elizabeth!"

"Will!" Elizabeth started to hold out her arms to him but froze at the amount of blood smearing both his British uniform, hands, and sword. "Will?" her face was filled with confusion. "Cotton…he…"

"Elizabeth, this is not what it looks like." Will stammered, quick to assure her that he was not the cause for Cotton's death.

"Then what is it?" she demanded, shying away and lifting her cutlass.

The raw hate and revulsion that filled her lovely amber eyes…it nearly sliced open his heart."I-I didn't kill him."

"What would you have me believe, Will? My heart or my intellect?"

"Elizabeth?" She had never doubted his word before.

"I can't believe you, Will! I hope they leave you when I'm gone." Tears flickered in her eyes until she whirled and tore back up the stairs, leaving him alone with two corpses.

* * *

Jack was busy ordering his crew back to the Pearl, a highly difficult task when bombarded with people trying to swipe your head off especially since said people seemed to be going for people who brought attention to themselves.

Although, according to Jack, you could hardly fault him for being at least a little flamboyant. After all, this had the potential for a grand tale.

He could almost feel the mug of rum in his hands, the dominating and sickly odor of that stuff called perfume, the cooing voices of Tortuga's women and their warm hands on his arms, pleading for the latest gambit.

"Jack! Full canvas!"

Bloody nightmare! It sounded as thought they were right there. Jack spun, his imagination might have been more active and lively than the normal human but this was too real. Oh… Her again? Bloody stupid whelp…must'a taught 'er to use a sword too well…

Elizabeth darted up, looking positively lethal in rage. "Did you hear what I said? Get us out of here! Tell them to brace the foreyards!"

"I did indeed, love." Jack was entirely too short on rum to argue with the young mother especially since he couldn't agree more. "Gibbs! My ship is leaving!"

He smiled hearing the thick voice begin to holler orders and slowly the Pearl began to gain speed. In an enormous creak after what seemed like ages, the Pearl broke free from the Waking Power.

Only when she was a dot on the clue sky did the crew finally sink against the barrels and crates, erupting into a caucus of tales and sighs of relief.

One voice raised above the others, recognizable as Marty, "I seen 'im…near the gun deck. 'e was wearin' one a' dem British uniforms, too…aye, de very same, William Turner."

Jack turned on Elizabeth, surely she would want to hear this bit o' news, only to find, well…no Elizabeth.

"Oi! You! Pintel! Where be the whelp's girl?"

"I dunno, Cap'n last I saws she was 'ere."

"You're just bloody unhelpful. What are you doing my ship? Mr. Gibbs! What is he going on me ship?" He scanned the area for the first mate only to find him, too, missing. That was odd…people were disappearing…again…he needed rum.

Without another word, he sauntered off to his cabin. For after all, the solutions to conundrums often made themselves known once a bottle of that heavenly stuff had been drunk.

And last time, Elizabeth had quite helpfully revealed her position following rum consumption.

So, he worked the door free, humming fragments of an inexistent tune to himself, and upon entering, peered around for a full bottle from amongst his many stashes.

A slight noise halted his rummaging and caused him to spin, ready to pounce on any rum theft.

But what he found was Elizabeth. Back rigid, face emotionless, taut arms wound around her full waist, and stone cold amber eyes staring into nothingness.

If not for the light rise and fall of her chest, he would have presumed her dead. "Liz'beth?"

She did not even blink, the golden flush of her face changed to a grey pallor.

Jack walked in a circle around her motionless body, peering at the change in her. This was unlike any mood he'd ever seen in a woman, not taking into account the fact that she was one of the fieriest women he'd ever met, and frankly he preferred the fire, the slapping, giggling, sobbing gaggle of emotional women to this…hollow seclusion.

He extended his forefinger and slowly edged it towards her shoulder, giving her a slight prod.

She didn't react.

Jauntily setting his head to the side, he observed her for a moment longer; fully expecting Elizabeth to spin and vent whatever it was that had her in a fix on him.

When she did move, it was only a slight turn of her head so that her eyes caught his gaze.

Jack almost stepped back at the horrendous amount of agony and betrayal in them. It was a night and day contrast to the way her tawny orbs normally alight with the joy of life and full of clever scheming.

"I hate him, Jack. I hate him."

For minutes, Jack Sparrow, for likely the first time in his life, had not the least idea of what to say. It was clear of who she spoke. The whelp…Will…

Her fixed stare finally broke contact with his but she said no more.

"Liz'beth," Jack uneasily edged towards her, unsure whether he should touch her but recalling that most women liked to be held. "You don't mean that, love. The whelp's a lit'le inept…and stupid…and bloody awful at bein' a pirate…but, I can't believe the words are comin' out o' me mouth, 'e's a good man, more than that 'e loves you, Liz'beth. 'e couldn' do anythin' to hurt you…and I think..." he paused, no movement, "you know that."

She spun and stalked to the door, stopping only to throw two sentences back over her shoulder. "I do mean it, Jack. I'd be happier if he were dead."

The door closed surprisingly quietly and she was gone.

Jack sank down into his chair before his navigational instruments and took a gulp of a half empty bottle of rum that had been stashed behind a pile of parchment before uttering one word like a curse, "Women…"

**TBC...**

Wow, a lot happened...don't kill me? :)


	17. The Night Goes On

Thank you so, so much to Smithy, lady angst, WillsElizabeth23, AKA Parfait, Telcontar Rulz, lynxlan, Princesa Moanna, Nicole Kazan, and Master of Time for the reviews!!

And now for anonymous reviewer responses:

Smithy: Indeed, though stressful situations are a bit away from being resolved. I wouldn't worry too much for the new baby. It is a Turner/Swann after all. They're made of pretty resilient stuff. Thanks for the review!

WillsElizabeth23: It surprised me as well! Who knew I would kill off a canon character? You are correct. Will is in a very tight spot right now. However, Jack, despite his belated and sometimes bizarre timing, won't leave Bootstrap's only son to rot. :) Thanks for the review!

Master of Time: Thanks very much! I'm so pleased that you are enjoying it! I apologize for not enabling it earlier. It's extremely sweet of you to go to such lengths to write a review! (and you were correct to go to Arquenniel :) )

**Chapter 17: The Night Goes On**

And I can't stand the pain  
And I can't make it go away  
No, I can't stand the pain  
How could this happen to me?  
I made my mistakes  
Got no where to run  
The night goes on  
As I'm fading away  
I'm sick of this life  
I just wanna scream  
How could this happen to me?

_Untitled_

_By Simple Plan_

Elizabeth forced her head high as she strode past the crew and scrambled down the hatch. She didn't make a sound while stepping past the crew's quarters, moving beyond the empty hammocks with a good amount of speed.

She knew where she was headed and nothing could burst free before she got there.

A door was yanked open and then she was in the deepest hole of the Black Pearl. Curling into the farthest corner and the smallest ball possible she finally let out a deep breath.

_Don't think about it, don't think about it_, she pleaded with herself but it was like fighting the tide of the ocean. Just when you thought your mind had receded from those memories they flooded back to hit you full force.

The light in their eyes when they said his name...it nearly suffocated her. Their delicate faces and soft accents…she bit her knuckle.

Who wouldn't try to catch their eye? And here she was as big as a tub of rum, dirt under every fingernail, blood spattered, seawater creasing her clothing, and the stench of rum clinging to her hair.

Cotton's death seemed to pulse heavily in her mind and her heart felt as though it was physically breaking.

Will had…she couldn't say it, even think it!

A horrible half chocked sob burst from her lungs, burning like acid in her mouth as tears cut paths down her filthy cheeks. Her waist ached with each heavy breath she took.

To find him after so long to see him bending over the corpse of a good friend…the last fringe of fortitude she had been clinging to crumbled away.

She didn't hate him though. She wouldn't, couldn't hate him. How she wanted to, how she wanted to rant and rave and curse but it was impossible. He was too good, too loving, too utterly perfect.

The days spent with him were buzzing with laughter and devotion. The days spent with him were peaceful and filled with love.

She stroked her belly as if drawing strength from her child. A child that might never meet his father…but…

Had she lost him?

Had all she believed in been a lie?

He had never lied to her before…he was always good and true, steady.

Elizabeth pounded her free fist into the dark paneling of the floor. _Will…how did this happen? How did I become so confused?_

She did not doubt her own love for it caused the fierce throbbing in her chest, still…so many weeks of anticipation…so many hopes and dreams lying in shambles at her feet, half sunken in filthy, smelly seawater.

Unbridled rage slid through her veins as a poison, corrupting all in its course. It ate up the logical thought process and swallowed her deep driven trust in her husband. All that it left behind was hate.

Hate for the very one that she had loved.

* * *

Give me a reason

Why you hide away so much inside.

If there's a reason,

I don't know why.

Is there a reason

Why a broken heart begins to cry?

Is there a reason

You were lost although you don't know why?

Give me a reason

Why you never want to say goodbye.

If there's a reason

I don't know why…

_Someone Said Goodbye_

_Enya_

Utter and potent confusion was Will's greatest obstruction as he stumbled up the stairs after Elizabeth. His limbs were suddenly swallowed by fatigue and his breathing erratic. What on earth had she meant?

"Elizabeth…" he tried to cry after her but his lungs refused to suck in enough air to cooperate. He was on deck now, trapped in a wreath of fleeing pirates and Navy men. His vision spun and he was forced to lean against a railing.

The pain in his side had multiplied horrifically past the aching that had been his constant companion for the past few weeks.

He could see the Pearl, guns roaring, gliding next to the Waking Power but slowly she was gaining speed and the Waking Power was lagging behind. Panicked, he realized that the Pearl was pulling away with an intention to leave. 'Those who fall behind are left behind…' the pirate's code seemed to mock.

He saw a slight gleam of golden brown and immediately knew that Elizabeth had made it back to the Pearl. A thin strand of comfort was offered to him in that Hawthorne would not get his hands on her but how he longed to be with her.

He moved forward hoping to join her when a soldier intercepted his path. Completely annoyed, he lifted his cutlass and bore into the man.

Yet, somehow, the soldier held up under his ferocious attack. Gripping his side in one hand and his weapon in the other he made to attack again. He was in mid-strike when the Pearl reached full canvas. Adrenaline pumping, he swiped to the side, catching the man's thigh, and struggled towards the rail.

The Pearl's black hull was already detached from the Waking Power leaving him with one escape option.

To jump and swim.

And that was practically suicide in his current condition. He was a strong swimmer, yes, but fighting a current was not something one should be doing with a nearly healed hole in their side.

Though, did he have much of a choice? Elizabeth was there, on the Pearl, hating him. Was he just going to stand aside?

With a feral lunge, he ran at the rail, preparing to hurdle the side, his decision set and cast in stone. Placing his feet squarely on the wooden planks and planted his free hand on the rail's smooth surface, he leapt.

A flash of light shone brilliantly in his line of vision and suddenly he was flying not forwards but backwards. The last thought echoing in his head as he slammed unto the deck was _'Elizabeth'_.

* * *

Hawthorne was submerged in the worst headache known to man…or at least the worst he'd ever experienced. It traveled from his temples to the nape of his neck in horrific levels of speed, bearing its potent and piercing pain back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

In fact, his pain level was so high his stomach had decided to refuse to keep down even water. The ship's imbecilic and mediocre surgeon had brewed all sorts of concoctions to cure or at least alleviate his ailment. He had even managed to stuff a particularly nasty brew down his superior's throat before he was hollered at, then, moments later, thrown overboard.

Hawthorne thought it a fitting punishment considering the way his gullet burned and twisted at contact with the foul creation.

So, it was under the strength of rage that he staggered to the main deck, still reeling like a drunk. Barking orders that had no intelligent thought behind them he managed to arrive before his assembled crew, barely avoiding a collision with his first mate Dickens…or was it Hickley…no matter.

Behind Dickens or Hickley, however, was a matter indeed. A large, rather strong, infuriating matter.

Hawthorne shoved his first mate aside and stared down the aforementioned matter he believed to be the cause of all his calamities and misfortunes.

The dark eyes met his fiercely as before, yet swirling with unspoken emotions and pain.

"You." Hawthorne growled. "You told them, didn't you?"

"Told who what?" Will's tone was drier than a desert plain.

"You told the pirates! That's the only reason they escaped! Somehow you informed them of our strategy!"

Will's temper flared. "And just how would I have done that?"

Hawthorne's face turned an interesting shade of red before he snapped, "Bring them out!"

That was a command Will didn't understand until the captain's cabin doors were flung open and the three Wood's girls were dragged out. Abrasions in varying amounts of damage littered their arms and faces but all in all they seemed well.

Without a word they were pushed to the main mast, pressed to the rough wood, and held there at the wrists by thick shackles.

"Let me tell you this right now, Turner, straight and clear. You are going to repair this ship until each board, nail, and scrap of canvas is in perfect order. Until then and only then will I allow these wenches to receive food and water. Finally, when I have decided due punishment has been appropriated for your conspiracy will I allow them to return to their cabins. Do I make myself clear?"

There was no answer but Will's eyes were as dark as a midnight sky and his jaw was tight.

"Now, Turner, if I were you I'd get to work."

* * *

"Cap'n," Gibbs had been trying for the last twenty minutes to capture Jack's attention. So far his success had been…well…nothing. He leaned forward to tap Jack's shoulder then, at the last moment, opted against it as Jack swerved in time with the Pearl's rolling gait.

"Cap'n?" He ventured, unsure whether to continue his quest for answers.

"Mr. Gibbs!" Jack whirled abruptly, nearly smacking right into his gristly first mate. "Where 'ave you been? I tolerate no lollygagging on my ship. Now what do you have t'say for your miserable self! Speak, man!"

"Cap'n, sir, the crew…" Gibbs faltered. "They're uneasy with the latest turnabouts. They're wanting to know where we are headed…"

Jack's mouth twitched in clear frustration.

"Cap'n, they're near mutinous."

Jack made no move to answer but grasped Gibb's rum stained collar, shoved him to the helm, and stalked to the front of the deck, glowering like a cat caught in a spring rainstorm. "For all of you indolent lumps of lard," Jack shouted over the crew's noise which immediately silenced, "who have the guts to call yourselves pirates and wanted to know my heading, Captain Jack Sparrow's heading, we are in the general navagatorial direction of Alabanza Vacía."

The crew's shifting and shuffling ceased immediately. The silence and jarring fear that squashed all good humor could have been a heap of wool blankets it was so stifling. It was as if they were suddenly thrust six feet under but had not the time to react.

It might have indeed been better if they had passed on though, for Alabanza Vacía was the scum pit of the world. Not even pirates dared to go there. Only the most coldhearted bloodthirsty tyrants made that place their abode even for a short time. Slavers and all other sorts of flesh dealers crowded at her pubs and clamored to buy her best 'stock'. Hardened men with no hearts downed the fruits of her labors in the fields and smoked the pleasures of grasses she offered with taunting and deceptively empty hands. She offered a full bushel of happiness then in a moments notice its allurement and bliss faded like the wisps of smoke veiling her heights to show what she really held.

Nothing.

Undeniably, she was a fickle and blatantly cruel mistress at the day's closing, one whose nets and snares were to be avoided at all costs. So, to suggest that they walk into that abyss was as attractive as being asked to stroll over the edge of a cliff.

"Captain, you know da stories of dat place." Marty's short build was tense and his tan face stormy. "To go dere brings ill fortune."

"…I know that." Jack informed then in a haughty tone.

"But, Captain, why stir up a bee hive like that one?" Gibbs questioned, not in the least convinced that this was a safe venture. Under normal circumstances, well, as normal as they could get with Jack Sparrow at the helm, he would have trusted his captain explicitly but the last few days had shaken that trust - badly.

"We are going there to deposit a load of merchandise given to us in Nassau. And now, as this is my ship, making me the captain and giving me the authority, leave, sanction, you bloody well know what I mean to give orders, I order you to stop gawking and get your pitiful, measly, bilge rat selves back to work."

For a moment no one moved. Gibbs was the first to snap out of the daze that seemed to swallow their ability to stir. "You heard what the captain said! Get moving, you lazy yobs!"

And in a rush of stamping they returned to their stations, hearts heavy with misgivings.

**TBC...**


	18. Cruel Realities

Whew! What a day! Sorry, everyone. I meant to have this chapter up much earlier today but the day's hectic schedule wouldn't allow it.

Thanks very, very much to reviewers, Smithy, master of time, Nicole Kazan, Princesa Moana, WillsElizabeth23, AKA Parfait, Telcontar Rulz, Lauren, and lynxlan!! Yummy hot cocoa to you all!

Anonymous Review Responses:

Smithy: Oh, I'm so sorry!! What a relief that your nephew is doing well!! You have every right to be concerned if you've been through that. Babies are so special. :)

master of time: I'm not really sure where Hawthorne came from exactly...he's just there. Poor Jack. I couldn't resist pulling out the infamous 'm' word. ;) It's been great to have you onboard.

WillsElizabeth23: Will and Elizabeth have a few things to work out for sure. As for Elizabeth, she's stressed, emotional, and pregnant. Coherent logical thought isn't really that prevalent right now. Will is pretty much the only person who can calm her down at this point and he's not doing all that well himself...I'm really excited to introduce Alabanza Vacia to you. It might be harder than originally thought to get free of that place. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter!!

AKA Parfait: Jack is under quite a bit of pressure but with a bottle of rum and the Black Pearl he should recover shortly. ;) I'm glad you are enjoying it!

Lauren: Oh, I'm so glad! :) This story has been a real pleasure to write.

**Chapter 18: Cruel Realities**

"Captain, sir?"

Hawthorne's eyes flitted up from the glass of wine he was trying to bury his headache in. "What?!"

"A ship's come along side us, sir, bearing the King's colors. She's asked for the captain."

"Her name?"

"The Sea Farer."

Hawthorne's upper lip curled. Rufus Powell…stuck-up and pompous with his powered wig and stupid little dog, the worst of English lords.

How he hated that man…

"What does the fool want?" Hawthorne demanded, hoping against all odds that it was merely a request for tea and that he wouldn't have to actually speak with Lord Powell.

"A meeting with you…captain." The younger aide stammered. After all, this kind of news could get him killed with an employer's temper similar Hawthorne's explosive disposition.

"Can he not just send a messenger?"

"No, sir, he specifically requested an appointment with you."

"Are you sure he wants the captain of this ship? Perhaps he has me confused with another arrogant idiot in England."

"He asked for you by name sir…"

"Fine." Hawthorne sulked, slamming down his glass and shoving his jacket into place. "Get him in here now. I want this over with."

The aide muttered an affirmative response and darted out.

Hawthorne had only a moment to wait before a chubby man with an enormous white wig and painted face entered.

"Hawthorne! My ostentatious fellow!" Powell held out a hand while his equally tubby dog, with its smashed nose, pattered in. "I hope this day finds you in good health. Well, that's good to hear. Now, let's get down to business, shall we?" He never once paused, leaving Hawthorne angry before the conversation really began.

"I bring a letter from our mutual friend, Edwards. Officers of espionage have discovered the long lost location of Alabanza Vacía. I'm sure you've heard of it, very good. To be quite clear, he has decided that you shall desert your quest for Sparrow to clean out this dirty spot on the map before the scoundrels catch drift of our plans."

Hawthorne lifted his glass of wine. There were other officers in the room. They could pay attention. Not he. Powell had only been in the room for possibly a minute and already the place reeked of stuffy cologne.

"Since we have that cleared away, I shall present my own proposition. I have heard rumors that you have three French women on board…"

Hawthorne's eyes lifted, attention fully peaked. Was this old windbag trying to steal his prisoners?

"So, the rumors are correct, then? Smashing." The puffy man grinned. "and I also hear you have a skilled blacksmith?"

"What of it?" Hawthorne ground out.

"I should like to take them off your hands when this business is through for a fair price."

"What for?"

"My good man, don't tell me you've never been to Spain before. The markets there are marvelous. I've been trying to get a good stock but it seems they are difficult to pick up these days."

Hawthorne hated the men, true. But it was also true that this man was one of the most wealthy he knew. Besides, he could clear out Alabanza Vacía, catch Sparrow, and then sell the lot of them, setting himself up for a few years. "How much?"

* * *

Ships were erratic and inconsistent beings, Will decided grimly as he pounded another thin nail into the curved wood. They had a mind of their own and at that moment it seemed as though every fiber of wood fought against him.

Focusing with a precise eye the smithy had ingrained into him, he held the next nail with the thumb and index fingers of his left hand while his right clutched a clumsy hammer. A quick blow later and the nail vanished halfway. He hefted the weight and struck again.

Only to hit his fingers.

A violent curse sprang to mind as he went for his throbbing digits, dropping the hammer. Unfortunately, luck seemed entirely far spent that day and it landed, full force behind it, on his booted toes.

Vehemently muttering the choice curse, he tried to pick up the hammer while soothing his inflamed hand and toes and merely succeeded in knocking over his short pail of nails.

More foul words tumbled past his lips.

He scurried forward, trying not to think about his bashed toes, and scooped up as many of the nails merrily rolling across the deck as he could, all the while pricking his palms on the sharp ends.

The irons encircling his ankles seemed to clatter louder than ever, as if mocking his ungainly and gawky attempts to recover the tools.

"You! Turner! Shut it!" A soldier working a few yards away snapped.

A smart remark was easily within reach but Will swallowed bitterly. A confrontation was the last thing he wanted right now.

He had been laboring over the ship with the crew for three days now, working both night and day. Hawthorne had realized in the first hour that it would take years for Will to repair the ship entirely by himself and so he had ordered his crew to aid the prisoner. This, of course, did not sit well at all with the crew, having only been told a short time before that they had a short vacation. Therefore everyone's temper was especially brittle and short.

If it was his well-being was on the line he would have acted and spoken as he liked yet that was not the case as he was reminded daily by Hawthorne. The Wood's girls were visibly fading under the sun's harsh glower, the weather's cruel pleasures, and no nourishment.

This day though he was infuriatingly close to being finished and that fact alone cause everything to be particularly trying.

Finally, collecting the last of the nails he dumped them back in their little pail irritably and lifted his hammer. However, he was increasingly reminded of his lumbering attempts previously with the smarting of both his feet and hands. A sigh pressed against his lips and, having not the willpower or strength to tamp it down, fell free.

This was going to be one long day…

* * *

Elaine sagged against her restraints, letting the unforgiving metal cut farther into the supple skin of her wrists. She was almost beyond the point of caring.

It hurt too much to care. It hurt too much to think, to breathe, to live.

The death of her mother and the responsibility that, consequently, was thrust upon her shoulders was definitely a weight she did not need right now.

Beside her Celia had fallen into a light slumber and Mariel was unusually silent, her face turned away and body deathly still.

"Mariel? Sont vous bien? /are you well?/"

No reply traveled upon the salty breeze.

"Mariel, sil vous plait. Répondez-moi. /answer me/"

"Pourquoi devrait je? /why should I?/"

"Mariel," Elaine tried to gather the remains of her own tattered morale to offer at least a shred of comfort to her sister but even as she opened her mouth to speak Hawthorne began to approach them, a large cluster of the crew behind him.

Though she tried to hide it, her heart beat faster and her palms grew slick in trepidation. This man was not right in the head and she was petrified of what might happen next.

But Hawthorne barely spared them a second glance for following him was Will. His wrists had once more been curtailed by a bulky set of shackles and his shoulders drooped, whether it was from weariness or disheartenment she had no way of knowing.

"At last, Turner, the Waking Power is whole. At this time I shall complete the rest of my promise." Hawthorne stopped for a beat and grinned madly. "Boys, our 'friend' hasn't kissed the gunner's lady!"

The crew hooted and howled in pleasure at this proclamation. Their hands tightening around Will's shoulder's and arms.

One particularly tubby man who never got along well with Will leaned over and whispered, his hot breath covering Will's ear, "You are gonna get it now, boy."

"Shall we give him the honor?"

A chorus of emphatic 'ayes' and more whistling was his answer.

Will's mind was whirling as they shoved him across the deck. Why did they want him to kiss the gunner's lady? Who was gunner anyway? And why on earth would they want him to kiss some lady? Though he did not have answers something twisted in his gut and he instinctively knew that this would not be an agreeable experience for him.

The crew now acted alone, Hawthorne standing to the side. They dragged him towards a large black cannon and pressed him over the gun's barrel, stretching his stomach across the wide girth.

Then, securing his shackled hands with a length of rope through a loop on the gun's underbelly, they moved back, allowing Hawthorne to step through.

"Comfortable?"

Will's eyes flashed in spite but he never said a word.

"Ah, I see we shall have to loosen that tongue of yours for you." Hawthorne held out his hand and a crewmember laid a long leather instrument in his open palm.

"You see this, Turner?" Hawthorne bent in Will's line of vision, letting him see all nine braided strips of cord. Tiny twists of metal adorned the brown leather and caused the sun to glint on the cruel device. "This is my favorite toy." He patted as one would a favorite dog or cat. "It is called the cat of nine tails."

He waved it before Will's nose. "Rather pretty, isn't she?"

Will's anger had cooled a bit, leaving behind ice cold revulsion. "So, this is how you repay service on board this vessel? By beating your men like curs?"

Hawthorne's face turned purple. "Prepare him!"

Elaine could not believe what she was about to witness. She had heard of floggings before but never once did she ever think that she would be present for one, especially when Will Turner was the recipient of such barbaric cruelty.

There was a loud tearing sound and she forced her eyes to open. As the crew returned to their original positions for watching the 'sport', she saw Will's back bared to the sun and in moments the whip's caress.

The sight was one that sent shivers up her spine. Elaine shut her eyes as quickly as she had opened them and kept them clenched shut, hoping against all odds that somehow she would wake up and this would all have been a nightmare.

A quick snap of leather striking flesh followed by a soft and half muffled grunt was her answer.

This was no dream.

This was reality.

And reality was cruel.

* * *

The world was consumed with blackness. It swallowed everything and left in dripping in frigid hate.

Suddenly a gust of cold wind blew over the dark surface, rippling the obsidian waters and stirring up its glassy top, and carrying with it a myriad of noises and feelings, a sharp hiss of one in pain, a quick crack, and the breathless sob of a woman.

It swallowed up the world and twisted it in horrible burning pain. Waves of sticky warmth spilled over and the air reeked of fresh blood.

Elizabeth leapt from her pallet, dripping with icy sweat and heaving for oxygen. For a full minute all she could do was lean against the dark wood.

Nightmares had filled all her sleeping hours since the confrontation with Will on the Waking Power. But never had they been this horrific. They had always involved someone in pain, terrible, extreme pain, one that drove out all thought or feeling except misery.

Near tears, she lifted herself up and stumbled to the deck. Not caring who saw her as long as the stench of blood left her nostrils.

The door's handle was pried free and she careened out into the night air. Sobs shook her body and she collapsed near the rail. She thrust out her hand, hoping to catch something solid to keep her mind from trapping her in another ghastly dream. Her fingers brushed something smooth and glassy.

A bottle of rum.

Not realizing what exactly she was doing she wrapped her hand around the bottle's neck, loosed the plug and downed a large gulp. The liquid burned all the way down her throat, settling like acid in her stomach, and bringing more tears to her flooded amber eyes.

It was Will causing these dreams. It had to be.

"I hate you." She chocked out, knowing he couldn't hear her but feeling better all the same. "I hate you, Will."

Another swig of alcohol and she sobbed harder. This was not the life she had imagined with Will. This was everything but what she had wanted.

And it was all Will's fault.

* * *

Will crumpled to the floor like a dry leaf. His back was a mess of intercepting stripes, each bleeding with a vengeance and blazing in fervent pain. Sweat coated his forehead and hands.

He was so out of tune with the world around him he barely noticed that two sailors had pulled him to his feet and were yanking him somewhere.

There was a sharp gasp and he managed somehow to look up. The three Wood girls started in horror back at him.

"A closer look ladies?" Hawthorne laughed, a crazed light in his eyes.

Will was pushed forward one last time. Yet this time his weary and pain fuzzed brain seemed to register what they intended to do. "No," the word was not spoken as forcefully as he would have liked but at least it was said. He pressed his heels into the wood and tried to jerk back against the men's firm grip but it was a battle that was destined to be lost.

A quick cuff to his tortured back later and he was facing them only a few feet away. He was spun around, lending the sisters a full view of his shredded flesh.

"Perfect." Hawthorne marveled over his handiwork, enjoying with each passing moment their mounting nausea and horror.

Will was pivoted again, except this time to his drained mind the room did not cease spinning and everything twirled to a peaceful black as he slumped forward.

**TBC...**


	19. From the Frying Pan to the Fire

Since you all were so lovely and sent in so many reviews this chapter is a bit longer than usual. Many warm thanks to Smithy, hurricane1714, lady angst, Telcontar Rulz, master of time, AKA Parfait, WillsElizabeth23, Anonymous, and lynxlan!

Anonymous Reviewer Responses:

Smithy: Thanks very much for the review! No, indeed, drinking is not advisable while pregnant. I was a touch leery to put that in but I wanted to really protray that Elizabeth's nerves are shot. She's driven to an emotional edge and merely wants to forget. Will's presence is really what she needs. And your nephew sounds absolutely adorable. :) I have a cousin with down syndrome and he's a sweetheart. Something about kids with medical conditions makes them be more loving, open, and trusting. May God bless your little guy!

master of time: Hawthorne has a few brain cells missing, for sure. But then, Will and Elizabeth always seem to attract the more...eclectic villains. :) As for Elizabeth, she is doing some things she probably shouldn't. Be at rest though, her swordfighting days are soon to be over. Rum-drinking days were given the boot just as soon as I'd finished her dream sequence. Thanks so much for the review!

AKA Parfait: Yes, but isn't angst fun? The reunion might be harder than Will and Elizabeth think. The Pirates of the Caribbean world is never simple. Thanks so much for the review!

WillsElizabeth23: It's my pleasure. I really enjoyed hearing what my readers have to say. A new perspective is always welcome. :) And yes, you are correct. Will was put through the washer last chapter. As I seem to have an aversion to never allow anything nice happen to Will, I wouldn't expect a reprieve for a while yet. Will and Elizabeth are going to be in the same general area, indeed. But so is Jack, and Hawthorne, and the Wood girls, and a rather nasty new character. Making amends might be difficult. Thanks very much for the review!

Anonymous: Thanks very much! And yes, Will's pain makes it hard to think about anything else. Never fear though, Elizabeth never strays far from his mind. :)

**Chapter 19: From the Frying Pan to the Fire**

"Monsieur?" A soft feathery voice asked.

Will groaned, managing to pry open one eye then snapping it shut less than a heartbeat later. It was too bright and it felt as though he had a pair of battling ships inside his head.

"Monsieur, please, wake." The voice persisted, gently patting his hand.

He tried to roll over but halted the instant bolts of pain raced up his spine. "Liz'beth, no." He murmured, trying to get her to leave him alone. Didn't she know he was tired?

The voice went quiet then started up again this time a little more forcefully. "Monsieur, I am not 'Liz'beth'. I'm Elaine. Don't you remember?"

Something nagged at the corners of his mind but he couldn't think of what it was…He tried to sit up.

The pricking increased and suddenly, all went dark.

* * *

"Stupid little buggers…" Jack muttered, highly irritated. He was in the midst of wrestling the maggots out of his dry bread. His brown fingers were halfway swallowed up by the crusty stuff while his face screwed up in almost obsessive concentration.

"Ah! Gotcha!" His fingers closed around a wriggling little body and he yanked it out, eyeing the smooth shell and small beady face spitefully. "Trying to eat up Cap'n Jack Sparrow's food, aye?"

He tossed it over the ship's rail contemptuously and retorted quietly to its tiny speck self as it tumbled into the sea, "my biscuit."

"Cap'n?" Gibbs mounted the stairs as Jack smacked his lunch against the crate he was perched on, looking for more invaders.

"Wot?" He answered curtly, cross with the amount of time it was taking to clean out his food.

"We're comin' up fast on Alabanza Vacía."

Jack snarled quietly. "Oh, well, that's jus' wonderful." He crossed the deck to his first mate and before stepping down the stairs he handed a very confused Gibbs a riddled biscuit.

"Bloody crawling with buggers," was his only comment. And whether he was talking about Alabanza Vacía or his lunch Gibbs would never know.

* * *

Badgers was bored.

Too bored.

In fact, this boredom was likely the worst known to mankind. He had tried sleeping. He had tried counting every knothole in sight. He had tried every game imaginable.

Nothing had worked.

He wanted some fun. And Turner was the only fun they'd got this voyage. Everything else was battles, death, and boredom, sheer, undiluted, painfully dull boredom.

They weren't allowed to touch the French wenches under pain of death and well, he wasn't about to risk life and limb for entertainment yet.

Not his life or limbs anyway.

So, it had fallen to Turner to amuse the crew. At this point it time it had only been well-timed shoves to create havoc for the blacksmith and taunting jeers to remind him of his 'place' but the diversion created by that was quickly losing its savor. Especially after the flogging three days ago.

Oh, how the poor maggot had squirmed, trying to be heroic in bearing his pain quietly. The weather-worn sailor chuckled dryly.

They would have some fun with him tonight though. He was sure of it. Hawthorne was in the infirmary, too exerted from the whipping to order his crew about. The replacement officer was a water-boned man with a pale complexion who would crumble at the first threat.

Yes, they would have some fun, starting with Turner.

Badgers shifted at his lookout post and smiled. Only two more hours to wait…

* * *

Smoke, heavy and smothering, covered the bay of Alabanza Vacía. It licked out over the black waters of the sea but halted only a hundred yards out as if it wanted to keep its potency cloistered about the huts.

Her docks were empty and quiet as all the ship's masters crowded to the bars and dens this time of night. Only the pickpockets, knaves, and other comparatively harmless vagabonds slunk along the street's dark alleyways.

The night, overall, was peaceful. The stars glittered like diamonds and the moon's glow spilled over the earth like satin.

But none of this was seen by Will or the Wood girls.

The girls huddled together at one edge of the cell while Will tried to find some rest, no matter how uneasy and nightmare filled it might be. His back screamed at the slightest disturbance but his eyes ached for sleep. However, sleep was not an easy thing to acquire.

Elizabeth's furious face kept taunting him and her forceful words burned his mind like a brand each time slumber came tantilizingly close.

Not quite ready to close his eyes to chase sleep for the fifth time that evening, he stared at the musty boards above them, making mental patterns in the wood's grain. For minutes everything was still. No one spoke or moved. Slowly, Will's eyes began to droop and the heaviness of his eyelids seemed almost too much to bear.

Suddenly, there was a slam and a round of thumping then all went still above their heads.

"Monsieur?" Mariel managed to ask before the thumping sounded at the crest of the stairs leading to the brig.

A loud cacophony of voices and stamping sounded the arrival of a cluster of crewmembers, their eyes glazed with strong alcohol and their laughter without true mirth. Instead, it was the hollow bark of haunted souls.

The Wood girls instinctively shrank back, their eyes widening at the men's inebriated condition. Will's expression became shadowed.

"Turner, don't look so glum, mate." One particularly drunk man slurred. "Can't take a few beatings?"

The men around him erupted in another round of clamorous laughter, nearly tripping over themselves in their glee.

"Lemme tell you somethin', a lot of us," the man waved at himself and the men crowding the premises, "we've seen worse. Ya see, 'awthorne, 'e can be kinda light on fellows sometimes…and Turner, ya can't be a real man until you've really been beaten by a man, aye?" He reached through the corroded bars and patted Will's cheek, even as the blacksmith turned away, uninterested with the empty barbs of a few drunks.

"Ey! Badgers! 'e doesn't want to play!" A man with a sparse head of dark hair giggled, startling everyone with the high pitch and sending half of the men into fits of amusement.

'Badgers' grinned wickedly as he watched Will's eyes flicker in icy aversion. "Maybe 'e doesn't…" the man's flew to the huddled forms just past Turner. "but I bet they do…french, aren't ye? They's loose, ain't they?"

"But the captain says we aren't to touch the pretties." A burly sailor snarled in obvious disdain for Hawthorne's orders, turning to spit in disgust.

"But the captain isn't here is 'e…" Badgers licked his lips and brushed a hand over the cell lock.

The sisters shied away further, eyes bright with shock but smoldering in a touch of anger at the slight to their honor.

"Badgers…" One young man at the fringe of the group who have consumed less of the spirits than his counterparts, warned.

"Oh, I know…but's so much fun to see 'em squirm." Badgers's grin had yet to fade, his pale gray eyes snapping to Will. "But Turner, we can play with 'im."

* * *

Jack smiled satisfactorily.

Alabanza Vacía lay before them in all her wicked and vast brilliance and in a few short hours his debt would be paid, leaving him a free man with only the open sea and a great longing for rum to guide him.

Turning back from the rail, he faced his laboring crew. "Oi! Gibbs! Prepare the longboat. I will be going ashore…" he paused.

Just himself?

Fidgeting, he added, "and 'alf of the crew."

"Half the crew, cap'n?"

"I-they…jus' get them in the boats, savvy?"

"But captain I thought you said no one but you would be going ashore."

"I've decided…that it would be beneficiary and benefactorial that Mrs. Turner should also venture into this…gallimaufry."

Gibbs was slow to realize Jack's intent. "And so the crew's to come…for…protection…"

"For the whelp's bonnie lass." Jack interjected, interrupting Gibb's confused rambling. After all, he couldn't let the idea get in people's heads that he wanted the protection. No indeed, that would be as unforgivable as letting barnacles attach their buggery little selves to his precious Pearl.

"Ah, of course, cap'n. I'll have 'em get ready right off." He made to leave then stopped. "Cap'n, will you be tellin' the lass that's she's going or shall I?"

* * *

The moment Will was shoved on deck a blast of warm air hit them as solidly as water. Clouds churned on the horizon and high winds stirred the articles about them, tugging at clothing, and whipping hair about faces. However, that tepid breeze did not to sharpen the men's senses and if anything it only served to further lull them into a drunken haze.

But if they were drunk, they did not show it in the attention they paid Will. Their grip was as tight and inescapable as before. Not only did their watch over him never cease, they had taken the precaution of binding his hands tightly together behind his back with a long strip of sturdy twine.

As they dragged him to the center of the deck, a fat droplet of water landed on his nose. A groan pressed against his throat. It seemed as though every part of the British Military was working against him. But it appeared a little extraneous to have the weather be an enemy as well.

Behind him, there was a soft cry and he managed to catch a glimpse of the three sisters being pushed along.

Weakly, he tried to fight the hands that grasped his arms and shoulders only to get struck across the brow, sending hot flashes of pain through his head.

The men laughed raucously at this, nearly doubled over in their inebriated mirth, unaware of the sprinkling of rain. "Look at 'im! Poor coward!" they jeered, their loud voices increasing the pounding in Will's skull.

When Will was still trying to find his bearings after a several minutes, a few of the men became uneasy, "Aw, Badgers, I think you hit him too hard."

"Nah, I didn'. 'e's just fakin'." The burly man bellowed. He clasped one of Will's dark locks and used it as a handle to shake the younger man's head. "See?"

Will blinked rapidly, endeavoring to bring the world and its colors back into focus. But it was harder than he anticipated.

"No, mate. Look at him. You're gonna spoil the fun too soon."

"No, I ain't. You're the one who's gonna spoil the fun too soon, Twig."

"Hey!" Twig shoved past a few other crewmembers, face pinching in anger. "I'm not the one clouting people too hard over the head, ya thick-headed goon."

"Oh, I'm the goon!?" Badgers released his hold on Will, knocking him onto the deck and stepping over his prone body, fists clenched and eyes dark.

The men's conversation quickly became heated but Will barely heard it. It felt as though cotton had been stuffed in his ears. Sharp pain laced up through his hands and for many moments he could not figure out why.

Slowly, he wigged his fingers, brushing something cold and firm. Metal. That much was deduced. It was the next revelation that sent hope flying though his veins once more.

Cradled in his palm and wetted with his blood, was a thin but razor sharp dagger. It had scraped the skin on the center of his left palm, causing a stinging fire to spread up his arm from the shallow incision but that seemed entirely insignificant now.

This was his chance for freedom. This was his chance to find Elizabeth.

Easing it around so the blade rested underneath his bonds, he began the laborious process of sawing away at the coarse strands. Mercifully, the crew was now fully involved in a brawl and did not even spare their prisoner a second glance.

Moments that seemed horribly too long later, the cords snapped, and the painful but exhilarating feeling of freed hands zinged up his body, carrying an odd twinge of pain with it.

Daring to breathe for worry of being found out, he started to wriggle backwards, cringing as his torn back shrieked in riposte.

It was then that the squabbling crew turned. For an instant all was still, save for the patter of rain and the cadence of Will's difficult attempts to breathe.

However, their brains ceased their brief pause in action. Suddenly and in a wordless roar they rushed forward, drunken limbs moving clumsily but still maintaining great speed.

With swiftness he didn't know he could muster, Will clambered to his feet, bare fists and bloodstained dagger at his side, ready to defend his newfound liberation.

Like animals converging upon prey, the crew surged towards him, a sea of furious faces and clubs.

At first, Will held his own very well. He had a bit of room to maneuver and he was quick on his feet. Unfortunately, the speed adrenaline had lent him faded quickly at the strenuous supply demand the fight was requiring.

Two blows connected with his ribs heavily almost simultaneously, driving out the air in his lungs with a quick whoosh.

His repercussion was three howling men clutching various swollen appendages. Resolute not to go down without a fight, he readied himself for what could only be a stronger attack.

But it never came.

Instead, a firm, accented voice broke the scuffle. "Leave him alone or so help me I will fill you all with lead."

Slowly, all heads turned to see Celia standing near the rail, far from anyone's grasp. If not for the two pistols held tightly in her hands and the grim expression on her face, the picture would have the meaning of innocence.

The smooth ribbons that tied back her dark curls were sadly drooped from captivity but the rain brightened the color. And even the fabric of her dress seemed heightened, perhaps by the gloom around them or just the way she stood.

"I meant what I said." She spoke firmly, despite the warm rain now cascading from the troubled sky.

As if lead weights had been attached to their feet, the crew slunk back.

Will edged towards her, eyes roving the crowd of defeated men, daring any of them to threaten him again.

A muffled cry for help brought Celia's attention to the other side of the sailors and she quickly yelled, "Let my sisters go!"

The crowd parted again. Mariel and Elaine were held by separate men. One man's grubby fingers were buried in Elaine's silky hair while the other man had a firm grip about Mariel's waist. Snarling, they released their grapple on the two older girls and pushed them viciously, sending Mariel sprawling onto the deck.

Harsh laughter accompanied her attempts to scramble back up but they went quiet at a hard look and a gesture with the pistols from Celia.

When Elaine and Mariel were next to Celia did she seem to relax a tad. Will, meanwhile, had made his way toward the young French girl, swiping the blood spilling over his burst lip away.

Celia, as soon as he was close enough, thrust the weapons into Will's hands and stepped back with her sisters, eager to be rid of the pressure the firearms accompanied.

Still simmering with silent fury the men watched as Will directed the girls on how to lower a longboat into the black sea, eyes never leaving the group of sullen sailors. The Waking Power was anchored, sure enough, but Alabanza Vacía was resting just beyond what someone could swim. However, it was not far away with a longboat and it would be a swift trip to pull into her docks.

The sister's worked quickly, having no desire to remain on this ship any longer, and in just a short amount of time they were prepared to push off.

"Everyone lie down on the deck." Will ordered, praying he could remain on his feet until they were in safety.

The crew obeyed, alcohol fogged minds never realizing that wet powder would not fire and even if it did by some miracle that he only had two pistols, hence two shots. And while the sailors became better acquainted with the main deck's wood grain the girls settled in the longboat and held the pistols as Will let himself down.

Shoving off, Will rowed as hard as he could, eager to put as much distance as possible between them and the infuriated crew.

Only when the Waking Power was a shadow looming on the horizon did they hear the shouts of drunken men, trying to find their little boat on the black waters through sheets of water.

Almost as one they breathed a heavy sigh of relief. They had escaped the Waking Power's clutches and Alabanza Vacía was well within eyesight. Safety was firmly in their grasp.

Little did they know, however, that they had only moved from the frying pan to the fire.

**TBC...**


	20. Of the Sky, As it Cries

I'm super excited for you all to meet the characters in this chapter. So, please, please tell me what you think!!

Thanks so much to reviewers smithy, master of time, lady angst, Nicole Kazan, AKA Parfait, willabeth0906, Telcontar Rulz, and WillsElizabeth23! :)

Anonymous Reviewer Responses:

smithy: Good for him! :) He'll do great things, because touching other people's lives is where we make a difference most. Thanks for the review!

master of time: Indeed. Alabanza Vacia is not a very happy place. Though the thought that bugs might crawled through the food grossed me out, I couldn't resist having a small scene with Jack and the weevils. I'm glad Will escaped, too. I was depressing myself writing Hawthorne do all those horrible things to Will. Now, we have new grounds for angst. :) Thanks for the review!

WillsElizabeth23: No worries. I'm glad you enjoyed it! Will has a fresh start in Alabanza Vacia. Unfortunately that fresh start might be painful. However, he is now in the same vicinity of Elizabeth. I wouldn't expect them to stay separate for very long. As for falling all over herself...you just might be surprised. :) Thanks for the review!

**Chapter 20: Of the Sky, as it Cries**

Upon seeing the rain, Jack had retreated to his cabin, giving orders for the crew to postpone their outing till morning. After all, there was no rush and he did not particularly savor a wet ride to shore.

But the sight did fill him with awe. It never failed to, the black waves battling sheets of white rain, the moon's pale face swathed in silky gray coverlets of cloud.

It sent hot excitement vibrating through his heart. The only thing missing was the Pearl darting through the battle, shaking with the roar and shudder of each downpour, his hands clinging to the helm as he held on for the wild thrill ride.

His fingers closed around the empty air, envisioning the dark wood's grain, melded perfectly to his grasp, under his brown palm.

Leaning back in his 'captain' chair, he let the beauty of the storm envelope him completely. That is until the door clicked open and the smack of boots brought his attention to the center of the room.

Elizabeth stood, wind blown and wet, as though she didn't even know Jack was there. Her eyes were glazed and her shoulders were drooped forward. Clearly, she was exhausted.

Content to watch, he held his peace, waiting for her to realize he was in the room as well.

She didn't move at first, staring at the floor as though it would open and swallow her whole. One slender hand slid up and pushed her tangled hair back from a pale face, streaked with dirt.

Jack decided to make his 'entry'. "Ya know, love, I've heard that a shoulder to cry on is the best thing one can have when in distress…" he dusted off his own shoulder, "I do happen to 'ave one a'those…"

Her head bolted up, eyes wide as a trapped feline, then, as she caught his sly invitation, narrowed. "Jack…" she growled.

"Bloody disagreeable, women are." He muttered turning back to nature's furious dance.

There was a soft sound of rustling fabric and suddenly she was standing next to him. Her eyes, too, were following the storm's crescendo. She began to speak, yet this time her voice was quiet…lost, "Jack, do you believe in hating someone you love?"

"'liz'beth, hate is strong word…" The pirate captain's eyes darkened but deep hurt and sadness lay in them, reflected by the turmoil beyond the glass. "It's a motivator that we could all do wifout. She's fickle and one moment she'll make you do somethin' you regret."

She sighed, rubbing at her shoulders and bowing her tousled head. "I just hate it so much! This whole mess!" her voice was soft as before yet venomous with passion, breaking at her next words, "and I hate Will for leaving me."

"Look, I'm sure the stupid whelp didn't leave you intentionally…he's a 'othead but he's a smart 'un. Jus' give 'im some time."

"Jack, he killed Cotton."

"Now wot makes you think that? He's an idiot but he's a loyal idiot. He wouldn' hurt Cotton cause he'd know he'd hurt you."

"He didn't think about hurting me when he left, Jack. He didn't think about the baby and the life he is going to live without a father. If he didn't want to hurt me then why didn't he fight harder..."

The room went deathly silent.

"The funny thing about being in want, lass, is that you have to view yourself without something to be truly without it."

Her eyes flickered as she held stock still. Then, without warning, she fled the room and into the mayhem outside.

* * *

There was a loud _scrape_ as the tiny rowboat Will, Elaine, Mariel, and Celia had salvaged from the Waking Power connected with the shore.

Will was breathing heavily by now and he stumbled from the vessel, eyesight blurring in weariness.

The sisters were not in much better shape. All three looked stretched far too thin as they slipped up the muddy embankment, cheeks gaunt and hands trembling.

Clumsily, Will tied off the boat and tramped after the girls, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

Alabanza Vacía was fairly empty. The inhabitants in a deep sleep from the weed and ale and so the four of them traversed the narrow, crisscrossed streets in relative peace and quiet. The clouds of smoke hung heavily over the town, making lungs unused to such poor conditions ache.

Half-way up the town's inclined layout, Will sagged against a stone wall, completely unable to continue any farther. He hated the weakness that filled his limbs but he simply had no strength left. More important than that was the lack of will and determination.

The young women beside him seemed to understand and wordlessly they helped him to a tiny niche beside the road, a ragged blanket sheltering from the storm that was growing progressively stronger.

Closing his eyes and forcing away the urge to wince at any movement, Will tried to coerce his stiff, damaged muscles to relax.

Elizabeth seemed farther away than ever and he had no means to get to her. Stinging tears of bitter disappointment filled his eyes. He fiercely shoved them back focused on his ragged breathing.

Slumped together nearby, the three sisters sat, whispering quietly to each other, curly heads touching.

Content to merely be safe for the moment, he let his mind drift away but sleep would not come. No matter how drained he felt.

"Cachez-moi maintenant sous vos ailes. Couvrez-moi dans votre main puissant." At first, he didn't really know he had heard it. It was so soft, beautiful, captivating.

But as the rain calmed even for a little bit, the words became clearer and though they were not in a language he understood, the message was clear. A song of one who's heart was not troubled by the cares of this world. It was a song of praise. It was a song of love.

"Quand les océans montent et le rugissement de tonnerres, Je monterai avec vous au-dessus de la tempête. Le père vous êtes le roi sur l'inondation. Je serai toujours et saurai que vous êtes Dieu." The trio of voices paused, then continued, a poignant harmony of gentle melodic tones. "Trouvez le reste mon âme dans Christ seul. Savez son pouvoir dans le calme et la confiance."

Slowly, the part of Will that had been dying gleamed with life. The light flashed brightly then faded to a soft illumination. It was just a sparkle, just a hint, just a faint glow, one that could be snuffed out at the slightest breeze but it was enough. Enough to re-awaken in him…hope.

* * *

Every time, the rain comes down

Close my eyes and listen

I can hear the lonesome sound

Of the sky, as it cries...

Feel the touch of tears that fall

They won't fall forever

In the way, the day will flow

All things come, all things go

_It's in the Rain_

_By Enya_

Elizabeth sat, hands clutching her wide girth and head down, sheltered by the dark green leather overcoat as the boat shook with tremors on the turbulent sea.

Jack had decided to wait no longer and so the crew had loaded up the few small crates entrusted them, covered them with spare canvas and had set out, a dripping, grisly entourage of colorful characters.

The trip had, so far, been made in silence, each person lost in their own world. Marty, Pintel, Ragetti, Gibbs, Elizabeth and of course Jack had been the lucky or unlucky selected for this expedition.

Elizabeth still didn't understand why her presence was required. After all, what could she do? She was nearly eight months pregnant. But she had not felt like disputing the point and therefore here she was, huddling from the rain's merciless attack.

So, immersed in her own world, she did not notice when the longboats hit land. Only realizing where they were at a light touch from Gibbs.

Alabanza Vacía fit its name perfectly. It was consumed by empty praise. Her streets were narrow, dizzying, and led steeply up. Dirt and grime was everywhere. Niches and crannies in the walls were far from rare and the stale smell of various foods, not mention the ever present rancid odor of smoke, clung to the air around them. Gaudy colors lined the homes, each trying to attract a potential customer.

Trying to keep stride with the rest of the pirates, Elizabeth was kept far too occupied to gaze too long, however, and the moments passed quickly.

The establishment they finally stopped at was a shabby tavern, the roof slanting sideways and the chimney near black with ashes.

They moved in, Jack, as always, leading the pack with his jangling, sauntering, drunken, waltz-like walk.

Elizabeth had thought the smoke outside was heavy but the air inside made the air they had just left behind seem as clean as a untouched spring hidden away in a cool alcove.

The smoke filled the room as tangible as cloth itself, threading its overpowering touch through every particle of one's clothing.

Hoping the discomfort she immediately felt did not show on her face, she gaped around her as the group paraded farther down several filthy hallways, crossing into the dark shadows.

One woman, in a tattered red dress and smeared makeup, approached them all saucily. "Jack Sparrow, I thought I'd never see you come around these parts again."

"Ah, Isaly," Jack responded, the winning smile neatly pinned on his face. "I never thought you'd still be here, else I would 'ave come sooner."

The woman, now clarified as Isaly, snorted harshly, her pale hands coming to rest on her hips. Her sharp gray eyes glanced behind the unpredictable captain and caught Elizabeth's pregnant form. The gaze seemed to take in everything, the orbs narrowed. "I'd believe that the day you drank seawater as much as your precious rum." She retorted bitterly.

"Well, actually, you're in luck, my lovely, blooming flow-"

"He's waiting, Sparrow." She spun as if no more words were needed or desired and disappeared into another room.

Jack shrugged and followed in her footsteps, leaving the crew no choice but to tag along.

The corridor she led them down was darker than the last and Elizabeth struggled to keep her eyes on their retreating backs. Her cheeks burned at the way Isaly's eyes glittered with assumption at her state. Her fists clenched and she promised herself vehemently that woman would see just what exactly she was before the day's end.

When the hallway ended abruptly they came to a room unlike the rest. It was still heavily swathed in smoke but around the fringes of the room lay tables and sets of chairs. The peculiar thing, however, was not the difference in seating arrangement but the fact that these chairs were a deep rich wood carved by an expert eye.

Clusters of burly men, all armed, sat at the tables, pipes and bottles of rum interspersed between them.

Elizabeth managed to spare a quick glance to one of the men themselves and found herself shocked at their physical state.

Scars trailed their back and arms. A few even had fresh wounds. But as they hunched around their pipes and kegs she perceived the way their eyes glazed over and smiles came more freely.

"Jack Sparrow." The voice was gravely, harsh, and demanding.

"'enry Jones."

"Lord Blanchard said you'd be coming here…I found it hard to believe." A large form stood, dark intelligent eyes resting on the Pearl's crew. Chestnut hair framed a chiseled face, marred by a long scar down the left eye. A broad hand was held out and Isaly's dirty one fell into it, smirking at Jack as she was pulled into the brawny arms. "But you have proved me wrong."

"I do that a lot." Jack responded easily, smile never altering.

To everyone surprise Henry did not react in anger, instead the skin around his eyes crinkled and he began to laugh. "You have not changed Sparrow. Still the rotten," the laughter dwindled, "lying," shriveled, "thief" became completely void of life, "I remember."

"But you do remember me."

"How could I forget? You are the one who gave me this scar, Sparrow. The scar I will live with for the rest of my days." He jerked a finger towards the angry, silver-pink mark along his face.

Isaly cooed something in comfort, laid a kiss on his cheek, and stroked the strands of hair near her grasp, continuing to purr words in his ear.

"Mate, I'm just here to deliver the crates," he pointed behind him to the items Pintel and Ragetti struggled to hold.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Sometimes the truth isn' easy to believe."

A growl formed deep in Jones' throat.

"Captain!" A thin, pale fellow came darting in, eyes wide and breathless. "A ship's been spotted! She's flying British colors, sir! And she's preparing to land!"

The growl burst free.

* * *

Rain poured form the heavens, bearing into the soil with tremendous force and scouring away the foul stench acquired through the week's activities.

The sky was a troubled mass of black, swirls of gray clouds, and occasionally a bolt of icy white lightning. And though it was mid morning the sun's bright caress and warm illumination could not be seen.

Even so, the red of British uniforms could be viewed past nature's fury, scrambling from longboats and swarming up the muddy hill like ants.

Upon reaching the pinnacle of the slope and on the edge of town they crisply arranged themselves in neat rows, muskets in front and eyes glued to the person before them.

Anticipation was almost palpable in the air; its tremors flew along the ranks as they waited, reaching every man and sending bolts of adrenaline pumping through their hearts.

Their breath made soft clouds for an instant before the damp, muggy air, deadened with heavy droplets of rain, wiped it away.

Water collected in boats they struggled to bring up the slippery shore. A white horse carrying their leader sprang easily from the latest vessel and the soldier's watched, envious, as it leapt effortlessly up the incline.

As it swept past, clods of dirt pierced the sky around them, speckling their soaked uniforms. Yet not one man flinched. They were British soldiers, the best the world had to offer in military might. Whatever their actions may have been yesterday, the reality of battle and the thrill or fear it brought was enough to wake them up to the training that had been drilled into them countless times.

A rare few of them trembled with excitement. They were about to clean out the dirtiest hole in the entire Caribbean.

Snapping to attention as the horse swung round, facing them, pawing at the pliable soil with impatient hooves, they waited for directions.

Hawthorne, atop a white stallion, viewed the troops under his command with a satisfied air. It was a magnificent sight. Rows of red and white uniform, all armed and trained in deadly precision.

"Orders, sir?"

Smiling viciously, he turned to his second in command. "Kill them. Kill them all."

"Even Turner and Sparrow, sir?"

"Bring them to me."

**TBC...**


	21. Love and Hate

Many thanks to reviewers master of time, Nicole Kazan, AKA Parfait, WillsElizabeth23, lynxlan, willabeth0906, and Telcontar Rulz! You make me so happy!!

And here's a bit of what you've all been waiting for. :)

**Chapter 21: Love and Hate**

"Sparrow! You led them here, didn't you?" Jones roared, pushing Isaly out of his path of destruction.

"Nah, mate," Jack held his hands up in an innocent expression. "I didn' tell them anything. You're the one who has the yellow-bellied mole."

"Men to stations!" Came a far off shout.

Henry's eyes flicked to the origin of the sound and though he couldn't see the man himself it was clear that he knew that crisp accent had to be British. "And now they come," he snarled. "But I'm not going to be the only one they find." His black eyes fell ominously on the Pearl's crew.

* * *

Will summoned from the last dregs of his newfound strength and careened up the hill, flinching as another hut was swallowed up in sting of gunpowder and flame. The flame flickered quietly for a several moments before the torrents of rain snuffed it out.

Keeping low, they had picked their way halfway up the treacherous town and it appeared as though the British troops had been at their heels the entire time.

The incline had led up fairly smoothly at first but as the town deepened the hills became sharper and they began to slip more and more often on the soaked cobblestones.

At first, Will had been able to help them stand again but now it was all he could do to remain on his feet. They were all battered with bruises and scrapes from a few nasty falls but stumbled ahead doggedly.

He tightened his grasp on the dull cutlass in his hand, determined not to lose the only hope of escape if it should come to confrontation. The weapon had been discarded by some loafer on an empty street a while back and Will had taken it, hoping there would be no need for it but knowing all the same in his gut that he would, in fact, need to make use of it before the day was through with them.

A flash of red ahead sent them lurching to a halt and spinning down another passage. The redcoats were everywhere, spreading across the place like venom and if they did not tread carefully that venom would consume them as well.

* * *

Elizabeth stepped outside the tavern, near passing out and gasping for clean air. Jones' men had already rushed out to meet the flow of redcoats.

She held her pistol loosely in one hand while the other stroked her belly. Her child within was restless, as if it could sense the turmoil outside of its comfortable home. A cutlass had strapped to her side as a precaution before they left but now there was a serious threat that she might have to use the blade.

It did not frighten her to fight, however, it did frighten her to fight without Will. He had always been there before. He was the reassurance she needed.

Anger tamped down on the desperate thoughts. No, she did not need Will. She was a strong woman who could defend herself. But at the back of her mind the nagging remained.

She was about to follow after the men when a woman's cry caught her attention.

"Will!"

Her feet were suddenly flying down the streets, eyes hard and cold, Jones' men and defending herself forgotten. Will was here…and he had some answering to do.

* * *

With a last swipe the redcoat slumped to the floor, and Will sagged to his knees to catch a few deep breaths. The sisters stood to the side, armed with various miscellaneous items, shaking with fright at the sight of the man that had almost taken all of their lives.

He had been on the verge of lighting a grenade and only their cry of Will's name brought the blacksmith's attention to the new threat.

"Go farther up," Will flapped a hand at them, "the street."

"But-"

"I'll catch up…" he wheezed for air that seemed far too thin. "I just need a moment."

Reluctant to leave their protector but unwilling to remain there, they turned and disappeared up an alleyway.

Placing his palms on the smooth flagstones once they were past sight, Will collected his energy, readying himself for the strenuous mad dashes that were sure to come.

The click of a gun's hammer straightened his back sharply. Cold metal tickled his ear, just above his jaw.

The heated rush of disappointment and frustration filled his belly as he prepared himself for the beating and harsh bonds sure to follow. Hawthorne would certainly enjoy this development, he couldn't help thinking morbidly.

But no ropes or chains fell about his wrists.

No voice ordered him to lie on the ground.

No boot slammed into his back.

No fist struck him across temple.

There was no indication that a person was even there save for the metal caressing his jugular.

When the latest hazard continued to do nothing, Will began to edge for his sword resting on the stones in front of him. If they would not take him into captivity while they had the chance he was going to take that same chance to strip the idea of imprisonment away.

"Don't, Will."

Will froze but not at the command. It was something entirely different…that voice. He knew that voice. He'd know it anywhere, in any company. That was the voice that spoke to him in his dreams, both taunting and comforting him. "Elizabeth," he forced out from lungs that seemed to have lost all their air.

"You liar!" the gun shook as if she was resisting the urge to strike him, "How could you say my name like that? After what you've done!"

Initially, Will was shocked but the shock began to freeze over in anger. "What exactly have I done, Elizabeth? You have yet to tell me!" He turned, blatantly ignoring the firearm in his face.

"Your innocent act means nothing, Will! The least you could do is come out and have the decency to tell your wife that you no longer care for her!"

Will grasped the gun and wrenched it away, sending it clattering to the cobblestones. "What are you talking about?!"

"Even still you pretend to know nothing. Stop being childish! Tell me to my face if you have the courage!" Hot, angry tears choked her words but she continued doggedly. "Why did you marry me if all you were going to do was leave me? Is your heart truly so black? Was it for my dowry? Was it the prestige? Was it some stupid bet with Sparrow-"

"Elizabeth! I married you because I loved you!" Will leapt to his feet, the move sending pain up his back and startling Elizabeth into drawing her sword.

"Stay away from me!"

"Elizabeth, what has gotten into you?"

"You still don't get it, do you? You left me, Will! Left me and my child!" Elizabeth spat the words out. "You left us when we needed you the most!"

"I did not leave of my own accord!"

"That does not excuse it!" Elizabeth's blade swung down and Will only barely managed to lift his in time.

"Then what does?!"

"You never tried to come back! You never wrote! I knew nothing! I heard nothing! I was left to worry, night after night after night!" Her throat constricted and she launched another blow to Will's left side, despising him for her wretchedness.

He caught her weapon easily with his own, fury lancing down his limbs like a strength giving fire. "I tried every day to return to you! And each time I failed it was as if I had a knife plunged through my heart!"

Her vehemence faltered for a moment. But only moment and then it came at him again, stronger than ever. "How can I believe that?! After Cotton I cannot believe a word you say! Because you are a bloodthirsty traitor who murders his friends!"

Will's surprise was so complete at the accusation that the next blow came almost too quickly for him to block.

"Who was going to be next? Marty? Jack?"

"You thought that I-"

"What else was I to think?" The blades clashed again, tangling in a lock and bringing their faces close.

"Elizabeth! I did not kill Cotton! I was trying to save him but I wasn't quick enough!"

"Then what about them?"

"Who?"

"Them. Their involvement in this is not so easily forgotten." She growled. "You didn't think I'd overlook their attachment, did you?"

"Elizabeth! Blast it! Who is them?!"

"Your women."

Will shook her blade off. "I don't have women, Elizabeth! You are the one and only woman in my life! I thought you knew that. Do you truly have so little trust in me?" The last sentence was soft. A striking contrast to the heated volume the conversation had been immersed in. "I love you…I always have."

Elizabeth's eyes washed over in tears but she forced them back stoically. "You lie!" She threw one last blow, compounding all her hate and misery into the powerful strike.

The blow caught Will unprepared and the last of his strength crumbled. He was simply too weary, too short of breath, in too much pain. He stumbled back, slamming into the side of a shabby house and crumpling to the floor, holding his ribs.

Pounding filled his ears and his back felt as if hot oil had been doused across the wounds. Pain past what he thought possible spilled over his senses, drowning him in agony.

The first thing he could make out past the pain was something warm and wet landing on his cheeks, a soothing contrast to the patter of rain. The second was a set of smooth hands caressing his face. The third was a soft voice, trembling with emotions.

"Will, Will, I'm so sorry. Please, I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean it. I love you." The words rushed past his ears in a blur. "I didn't mean it…please."

**TBC...**


	22. Amarantine

Chapter Edited 10-16-08

Many, many thanks to reviewers willabeth0906, Nicole Kazan, Calenlass Greenleaf1, lady angst, AKA Parfait, lynxlan, WillsElizabeth23, master of time, Smithy, shewhoshallwrite, Telcontar Rulz, and Lauren! You passed 100 reviews! Thank you, thank you!!

And thanks also to all of you who are reading this! You've given this story over 100 hits for every chapter so far!!

Apologizes to all my anonymous reviewers last chapter! I completely spaced your replies! Hopefully this longer chapter will make up for it!

AKA Parfait: I think several people want to slap Elizabeth right now. :) Yay!! Excitement is good, very good! Thanks very much for the review!

WillsElizabeth23: :) Their unconventional reunion was actually one of the mental images that sparked this entire story. I know...bad cliffie. But I couldn't help it! You've been wonderful to wait a whole week and I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! Thanks for the review!

master of time: Thanks for the review! Emotions are indeed running high, but we get a few calm spurts before another storm. You didn't expect me to let them off easy, did you? :)

Smithy: Thanks for the review! I'm a firm Willabether so no matter how terrible things get...at the end of the day they'll be back together again. :)

Lauren: Wow! I'm so glad you are enjoying it so much! Updates are on Thursdays and I try to get them up as promptly as possible. Thanks for the review!

**A/N:** "Amarantine" (also spelled "Amaranthine") is derived from the Greek "amaranthose" and means "unfading".

**Chapter 22: Amarantine**

You know when you give your love away

It opens your heart, everything is new

And you know time will always find a way

To let your heart believe it's true

You know love is everything you say

A whisper, a word, promises you give

You feel it in the heartbeat of the day

You know this is the way love is

Amarantine

Amarantine

Amarantine

Love is, love is, love...

You know love may sometimes make you cry

So let the tears go, they will flow away

For you know love will always let you fly

How far a heart can fly away

_Amarantine_

_By Enya_

Elizabeth couldn't formulate the terms quickly enough. Here Will lay, before her, in excruciating pain she had inflicted, her beloved who had never wavered in his devotion.

Her shoulders shook with the ease of burden, and as she wept the tears bathed away all the hate, all the mistrust, all the worrying, soothing it with a balm of love.

True, unfading, deep love.

Love that encompassed the moment and brought her to her knees at his side. Kisses flew liberally from her lips on each abrasion she could see, the scrape on his cheekbone, the bruise on his chin, the swollen mark near his hair line, the battered state of his hands.

Though her patter of tear-stained kisses, the warm brown fingers closed around hers, easing her closer, "Elizabeth,"

"Will," Elizabeth let her shuddering self lean against him and savored the embrace she had longed for so long.

One hand shifted and a finger stilled her lips, blabbering apologies, "I love you." He whispered.

"And I, you."

For many minutes they lay there, sharing quiet words, gentle touches, relishing the other's presence, and enjoying preciousness of the moment itself.

Will's shoulders were leaning against the stone wall, Elizabeth's head nestled against his chest, her large belly curled against his side. He would have liked to stay that way for eternity but his back was screaming in pain and the protestations were getting harder to ignore. Not only that, but the sounds of battle drew closer at each turn.

"Elizabeth?" he resisted the press to wince and struggled to keep his voice steady. "I need you to do something."

"Of course."

"Duck."

"Wh-" she began to say but his strong arm came down across her back and gently but firmly pushed her over his lap. There was a crack of a gun and the weight of his arm vanished, allowing her to sit back up.

"Will?" she questioned softly, peering around them.

Her husband held her forgotten pistol, wisps of smoke curling up from the barrel. The entire picture made not even a fraction of sense until she turned the opposite direction to see a soldier, slumped forward, dead by a gunshot wound.

When she faced Will again, she was shocked to see his eyes closed, the dark fringe of his eyelashes virulent against the pale, bruised flesh of his cheeks. The rain had washed away any dirt that might have been there but that didn't stop Elizabeth from wondering when the last he slept in a real bed was.

She noticed, also, how gaunt and hollow his face appeared, and the thought of how often he had eaten pricked at her mind. "Will?" she began, unable to stifle the way her voice trembled. Her blow had been strong but not that strong. She knew the power within his arms. After all, she had learned her skill in his shop each day for a year, each class one hour long. She knew his style, his prowess, and strength. A short bout like the one they had fought would not have brought him to this state.

The only answer was that he had attained some hurt before encountering her…but what? He was not hurt beyond the point of healing…wasn't he? "Will," the timbre of her voice tightened.

The eyelids fluttered and the deep brown orbs stared back at her, bleary but alert. A brief smile fluttered across his face before he shifted, preparing to stand.

The actual action itself was more difficult than he thought it would be. He managed to straighten completely before letting his weight come to rest against the wall, noting Elizabeth's curious and worried stare following him.

"Will?" she stepped forward, one slender hand coming to rest on his arm, "You are in pain!" she declared a moment later, upon scrutinizing him.

"It's nothing." He tried to wave her concern off. It would do them no good now.

"You can barely stand, William Turner. It is too something." Her words were firm and her gentle grasp on his forearm had tightened stubbornly.

"Elizabeth, there is nothing to be done for it at this moment, therefore I would not have you fret. A more pressing matter would be the battle that is rapidly approaching us."

"I will let you have your way this time. But, remember this, William Turner, you will show me those wounds when this business is concluded."

"Very well," Will relented, knowing he would never talk her out of it. Once Elizabeth Turner made up her mind there was no changing it.

Lifting her blade and handing Will his, they began the lengthy process of picking a street to traverse as remembering which street the Wood's girls choose was nigh to impossible. One wrong choice could end up costing them their lives and that was not a choice they would accept.

* * *

Jack stooped as Gibbs fired his pistol and resumed his sauntering march even before the first mate could see if his shot had hit its mark.

"Excellent aim, Mr. Gibbs." He drawled lazily, never glancing towards the fallen man. "Now, we'll be getting ourselves off this bloody island. I'm feeling a bit crowded."

"But Cap'n, didn' ya hear Jones?"

"I did, but I thinkin' now that when pirates gather together I'm pointin' me ship the other way."

"But Cap'n-"

"Mate, there is a time and a place for all that fightin' heroism claptrap…'owever, why fight when one could negotiate?"

"Cap'n, we have naught to be negotiating' with…"

The gypsy-like man leaned in, as if he was to impart some treasured secret. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"

* * *

Hawthorne grinned madly as another house was swallowed in a cloud of smoke and flame. Redcoats dotted the narrow dizzying streets and swarmed through the rickety establishment like locusts over a ripe wheat field, leaving nothing but devastation.

Pirates fell as easily as flies to a zealous house maid, annihilated with the switch of firepower he flourished. The cobblestones were littered the bodies of dead scallywags, many with a pipe and weed still in their mouths.

To others it might have been a shocking, even gruesome sight, but to him it was the essence of success. It was the matter that made promotions. The very blood that stained the gray stones would feed his parched appetite for power.

Now all that mattered was to rid himself of Sparrow and Turner.

* * *

Will's strength was almost entirely gone. There were simply too many demands on his worn body. Slumping to his knees once more he pressed his eyes closed and turned his full attention on getting his breathing down from its current state of ragged gasps.

"Will?" Elizabeth's voice sounded faraway, so faraway…

For several terrible moments, he thought his reunion with Elizabeth had all been a wonderful dream from which he was about to wake. Some beautiful and terrible ghoul sent to torment him.

Her smooth palms cupping his face brought him to reality. "Will, come on, just a bit farther, that's all. Just a few more steps and we'll be safe."

It was for her sake that he nodded numbly but deep in his heart he knew better. While they were in Alabanza Vacía they would never be safe no matter how far they ran or how well they hid. This was a place that reeked of death and destruction. It was as inescapable as Jack keeping from discovering rum.

Gently pulling him to stand, she wrapped her arms round his waist, letting his weight rest almost entirely on her pregnant form.

"Elizabeth…no…" he rasped, feebly pushing at the aid she was giving him, "the baby…you can't…"

"Please, Will, just this once. We'll be fine."

"Elizabeth…"

"We'll be fine." Elizabeth assured him firmly, forcing out the quaver that threatened to spoil the comforting effect. Yet, she couldn't help thinking, would they be?

* * *

"Oi! You!"

The gunfire ceased as a queer man with tri-corn hat perched jauntily on a veritable mane of dreadlocks sauntered from the shelter waving a yellowish hanky.

"Where's the 'ead of this 'ere welcoming committee?" he asked, flashing them a rakish gold-toothed grin. "I've a need to speak with 'im."

Hawthorne felt oddly interested in what this obvious vagabond had to say. "I am!" he called out, moving from the lines of soldiers.

"Ah…you must be Hawthorne."

Hawthorne smiled smugly. So the vagabond knew his name. Excellent. "May I ask of how you know of me?"

"Mutual acquaintance."

That was not the answer he'd been expecting. "And what acquaintance could a ruffian as yourself share with my own?" he demanded, highly insulted by the 'slur'.

"William Turner."

Hawthorne didn't answer.

"The bloody whelp's hard to forget. 'e's annoying, bloody intolerable if you ask me, and stupidly honorable…'e's useful though when it comes to swordfightin'." the pirate paused, dark eyes sparkling with some unreadable emotion, "any o' this sounding familiar?"

"In fact, it is. He is the man responsible for this invasion."

The pirate laughed. "Will? Responsible for this? Mate, 'e's accident prone but not this bad."

"Believe it or not. He is the one who led us here." Hawthorne knew he was stretching the truth more than just a little but what did it matter? This was a pirate and didn't their 'code' speak of each man for himself?

"Oh, did 'e?" The pirate didn't even sniff at the bait laid tauntingly before him. "I must be rubbin' off on 'im." He grinned at Hawthorne brightly.

"You came here to negotiate, vagabond."

"Ah, so I did." The scoundrel dusted off his hands and then began to thrown them about as he spoke. "You can sit here all day and blast the bajeezes out of me mates. But what good's that gonna due you…really. We're a bloody slippery lot, lemme tell you. In the end, you're just gonna end up using a whole slew of gunpowder and cannon what-not. Why not just tell me what it is that you want, stop blowing 'oles in this lovely town, and then I'll get whatever it is you want…for you, aye?"

"Why would I trust you? I don't even know your name?"

"Names, I find, are rather superfluous actually, I mean think about it. I didn't name meself, and you didn't name yourself. Therefore it's your parents who named you and me parents who named me. And they hadn't even known you or me for more than a few hours, savvy? How's we to know if they…really knew what we should be named?"

Hawthorne felt strangely amused by this pirate's eccentric charisma.

"As for the trustin' part…I'm a pirate, I'm always dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you need to watch out for."

"And why is that?"

"Because you never know when they're gonna decide to up and be dishonest."

"Indeed?"

"As sure as Fanny's your aunt."

"I cannot help but wonder why you are so obliging?"

"That…is a very good question…let's just say that I coincide with the highest bidder."

"And I am the highest bidder?"

"Whadda you think?"

"Very well. You bring me Sparrow and Turner, and I shall pull my troops back, agreed?"

"Agreed."

* * *

The little shelter was only a few yards away.

It was fascinating how such a short amount of ground could seem so impossibly far away.

Elizabeth tightened her grip around Will's waist and took a few stumbling steps. "Almost there." she panted, mostly to talk herself into traversing the distance.

A steep dip in the ground sent her forward faster than she'd originally estimated. Will's body jerked at the motion and a sharp intake of breath followed only an instant later.

"'lizbe'h,"

"You're going to be alright, Will. Stay with me."

"Bu' 'lizbe'h…"

"Just relax."

A faltering step led them into a stone stairwell leading to a little cellar. Elizabeth could not have been more relieved to let Will sink to the straw covered floor and sag down next to him.

"See? We made it." She took his face gently in the center of her palms. Her deepest fear was that he would fall into a sleep that he might never wake from.

Will seemed to gulp at the air but sent her a quick, half-grin.

His eyelids began to droop and she panicked. "No! Will! Stay with me!"

"So tired, 'lizbe'h…so tired."

"Will, no! You mustn't sleep! Not now!" She patted his cold cheek lightly but Will's eyelids continued their descent.

"The baby, Will! Think of the baby!"

That did it. His eyes slowly lifted and he stared back at her. The gaze was bleary and filled with exhaustion but he was awake.

Resting more fully against the wall behind them, Elizabeth allowed herself to slowly ease the tension in her muscles.

Jack was out there somewhere with the Pearl and her crew. The only problem was how to get to them. Alabanza Vacia was massive and not the least bit helpful when it came to directions.

She had tried to remember which way the old tavern was but it would have been easier to turn the whole city upside down. Everything from Cotton's death seemed a blur in her memory and nothing wanted to be put to rights.

Pressing a hand to her aching head, she tried once more to pick out where exactly the tavern had been…

**TBC...**


	23. Many Meetings

Much thanks to reviewers Arquenniel, Calenlass Greenleaf1, Smithy, shewhoshallwrite, Nicole Kazan, WillsElizabeth23, AKA Parfait, Telcontar Rulz, willlabeth0906, and master of time! I absolutely love to hear what you all think!

Anonymous Reviewer Responses:

Smithy: Thanks very much for the review! We don't get to see much of Will in this chapter but he'll return shortly. As for the baby, you'll see that its doing perfectly well. :)

WillsElizabeth23: Thanks very much for the review! I always wonder what you think of the chapter so thanks for telling me! :) Will needs somebody to care for him...I wouldn't be surprised if it was Elizabeth. ;) That might be a few chapters out though...maybe two? Jack has something up his sleeve but as we'll see, that 'card' might not get him very far. I'm so glad you're reading this! It's been a real pleasure to have you along!

AKA Parfait: Thanks very much for the review! The scene between Hawthorne and Jack was so much fun. I'm very glad it made your day! :) And yes, Will and Elizabeth are back together again and should remain that way for most of the remaining chapters.

master of time: Thanks very much for the review! Yup, Jack is 'working' with Hawthorne and he does have a trick up his sleeve. He may not have the ace he thinks he has. Will's in trouble, it's true. But with Elizabeth at his side...I wouldn't worry too much. I'm so glad you're enjoying it! As for a Will/Elizabeth seperation, they'll stick mostly together for the remaining chapters. :)

**Chapter 23: Many Meetings**

"Captain Hawthorne!" A lad of twelve summers darted in the house where Hawthorne had situated himself for the night to escape the rain.

Hawthorne turned, feeling highly pleased with himself in his agreement to have the vagabonds to their own dirty work. He would spend in peace, knowing that his troops and that foolish tramp would rake in wealth and power for him with each passing moment. First, however, he would have to deal with whatever idiot had foiled something again. "Yes?"

"Well, sir, Newkirk, he, that is to say, well, um, sir-"

Hawthorne rolled his eyes. Was his entire command inept? "Get it out, boy! It can't be that complicated!"

The lad gulped but his stuttering, incoherent babbling halted. "Newkirk, sir, has found new information."

"What information is that?"

"Me." A woman with a smudged but delicate face stepped from the shadows, a little smirk on her colored lips.

"And what do you have to do with anything?" Hawthorne scoffed, looking dubiously upon her.

"Oh, you'd be surprised." The woman purred coyly, stepping up next to him and letting her pale fingers trace the hem of his collar. "I know something."

"Something?"

"Yes…many something's actually. But we'll stick to just one for now, hmm?" Her face was within two inches of his. "My employer knows the whereabouts of Jack Sparrow."

"Jack Sparrow…indeed?" Hawthorne wasn't quite ready to tell her that he already had an agent to finish the job.

She flicked her eyes up to meet his and laughed prettily. "Indeed."

"What would you say if I told you I already had a man for the job?"

She didn't falter, instead toying with a strand of his hair. "I'd say that you have the wrong man."

"How would you know this?"

"I'd know because the very man you spoke with…was Captain Jack Sparrow himself." She laughed dryly at his expression. "Yes, you were fooled, my good Captain Hawthorne, fooled by the very man you sought to capture."

He jerked away from her touch and stared hard at her.

"You don't believe me." She pouted demurely and stared right back.

"Why should I?"

"Because, my darling Hawthorne," she took several steps back so that half of her form melted into the shadows, "I could have killed you twice just now." She lifted her hand to reveal a long dagger, its silver length glittering wickedly in the candle light.

Hawthorne's expression froze.

"Not only will my employer get you William Turner and Jack Sparrow but the Black Pearl and her crew. All he requires in return is the coordinates you received from Lord Powell to find this place your departure."

"What promise do I have that you will complete all that we agree on?"

She cocked her head to the side. "You don't."

"And what if I decide to burn this city to the ground without any assistance from you?"

She shrugged. "Your funeral."

"Fine, you may tell your employer that we have an accord."

"Excellent. Henry Jones is pleased to have done business with you. Besides, it would have been a pity to have to kill you with no one to see it." She blew him a quick kiss and vanished into the darkness.

* * *

"Did he agree?" Jones asked the moment Isaly appeared from a series of tunnels hidden in the earth beneath the city.

"Of course he did." Her azure eyes twinkled as she sidled up next to him, much like she had done with Hawthorne. "You didn't think I'd lost my touch, did you?"

Jones let out a bark of laughter before catching her hands in his. "The day you lose your touch will be the day Alabanza Vacia will be sacked."

"If you can turn over Sparrow, Turner and the Pearl then that day will not be today."

A storm cloud passed over Jones' expression. "Sparrow?"

Isaly nodded.

"Sparrow?!"

"Henry, it's not as bad-"

"That weasely, two-faced maggot! I'll be wearin' his lying guts for garters before this day is through! He brought those thieving redcoats here!"

"And you can have your revenge, my love. Just calm down. Sparrow thinks he has a deal with Hawthorne to find William Turner."

"We don't even know who this blasted Turner is!"

"My love, hear me out." She soothed gently, pressing a cool finger to his lips. "Sparrow knows who Turner is. Sparrow has betrayed you so nothing will stop him from betraying this Turner for his freedom. We'll let him find Turner and then we can make our move. Not only will he lead us to Turner but it will provide us with an opportunity to have Hawthorne put down his guard. While he relaxes, thinking that we are finishing the job for him, we can send some of the best men to clear out his vessel, the Waking Power, a vessel that is laden with ammunition, information, and, with the right persuasion, man power." She watched as his eyes sharpen at the prospect. "You see, Henry? This could be more than a problem dealt with. This could become of excellent profit to you."

"Indeed…"

* * *

"Mariel, not that way!" Elaine hissed, reaching out a yanking her sister from darting across a deceptively empty street. "Look," she commanded when she was satisfied Mariel wasn't going anywhere.

Mariel's eyes widened as she saw the flashes of red hidden by heavy curtains of rain about a quarter mile down the lane. "Oh." She uttered softly.

"Celia, can you see anything we might hide in?" Elaine kept her neck craned towards the cluster of redcoats.

"Nothing…no, wait. Farther up the hill. There's a little knoll. A staircase, perhaps?"

"Can we make it without being seen?" Mariel asked, afraid of the answer. Several times already that day they had spotted an ideal hiding spot but had either been unable to reach it or moments before arriving the spot had been consumed in flame before the torrential rain put it out.

"If we move fast."

"We'll take it." Elaine sighed wearily. There was no other choice for shelter but that did not mean she had to like it. "Mariel, you go first. Celia, I want you to follow her and I'll bring up the rear, agreed?"

At their assent, the trio moved into position to make the run. A curt nod later and Mariel was dashing up the hill, water splashing at her ankles.

Celia followed minutes later, passing unseen by the redcoats.

Elaine took a deep breath to steady her drumming heart before launching herself from their little niche and pounding up the street.

She could feel the blood pounding in her ears and her footsteps seemed enormous in the amount of sound they made. And all the while the knoll seemed miles away.

"Stop, you!"

The harsh call sent ice through her veins. Putting on a burst of speed she forced herself to ignore the echoes that felt as though they shook her very bones.

There was a loud crack and for a moment she could not decipher what it had been. It wasn't until the second crack sent a puff of smoke just to the right of her shattered a clay pot that she realized what was happening.

They were firing at her.

True, she had expected no less but the shock of actual reality sent her mind reeling. It also brought her to a harsh conclusion.

She couldn't join her sisters in the appointed knoll.

If they saw where she had gone they would undoubtedly follow. That would tie her younger sisters into this mess and that was unacceptable.

Swerving hard to the right and sending up a quick prayer of safety for her sisters, she began a trek through the maze-like streets of Alabanza Vacia with a load of redcoats on her heels.

* * *

It was with great forethought that Jack Sparrow threaded his way through Alabanza Vacia. Despite his careful planning he couldn't help humming happily to himself.

Rain had collected in his hat and pausing before crossing an alleyway, he neatly dumped the water out and continued on his way.

"And really bad eggs…dada da da…" he let his song drift away, "Now, if was a Turner where would I hide meself…"

Turning a corner he found himself in a tangle of petticoats, long brown hair, and wide blue eyes staring back at his. Certainly very beautiful, but not Elizabeth.

"'ello…" He managed.

A flurry of cloth and a tall, young woman stood before him, preparing to dart off.

"Oi! You! Wait!"

She paused mid-step, her gaze a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

"You have the look of a distressing damsel…err, damsel in distress…" Jack pulled out his distinct grin, a mesh of a half-drunken gloat and an intellectual smirk.

"I cannot speak now! I must run!"

Jack puckered his lips in thought…her words sounded all funny and mushy as if someone had popped a handful of marbles in her mouth. She must have had rum recently, he concluded. What he wouldn't give for some rum right now…

His ponderings came to an abrupt halt when something cracked loudly near his ear. Shards of rock and wood showered down on them, as Jack tried to pull free the cotton clogging his wits. When he could see straight again, he caught the slight form of the girl tearing down the street.

He lurched to look where the explosion had come from and saw a troop of armed redcoats pouring down the cobblestones.

And then he was running after her.

* * *

Mariel arrived at the niche's opening breathless but unharmed. The niche turned out to be some kind of stairway. Its winding steps disappeared into a dark passage above them so that looking at its ending was impossible.

Situating herself in one of the curves in the staircase, she waited for her sisters to follow. Celia flew in steps behind her and the pair waited anxiously for Elaine.

Seconds passed.

Nothing.

Mariel, ever the impatient one, poked her head out and saw something that froze the air in her lungs.

"Mariel?" Celia felt her sister tense. "What is happening?"

She didn't answer but instead pulled herself back behind the safety of the stairwell entry.

"What is wrong?"

"Elaine…they've seen her."

For a moment, neither could move. No one had to specify who 'they' were. Both knew instinctively that Elaine was in grave danger. Not only that but they could do nothing to prevent it. It also shut off the expectation that Elaine would join them in their escape from the city. The hope that they could somehow find each another in this twisted labyrinth of streets was nigh to impossible.

They were alone in a strange city.

Suddenly and wordlessly, Mariel leapt up. She snatched her younger sister's hand and began to run up the stairs.

It was a little while before Celia could regain bearings enough to ask, "What on earth are we doing?"

"We are doing what Elaine would want us to do."

And with that the two mounted the last of the steps, unaware of what lay just around the corner.

* * *

There was a little shack to the left of the tavern and it had two slanting chimneys...or was that the vendor's hut two streets back?

Elizabeth's mind had begun to wind itself in circles. A growing pain had lodged itself quite happily in the back of her head, just nagging enough to garner her attention but not to hamper her movement.

The child within her, too, must have been able to sense the turmoil in the mother for it had not stopped shifting since she had begun to think.

No, no, that wasn't it…Elizabeth ran her fingers across her temple and took a long deep breath. I'll start at the beginning, she thought in determination.

Unfortunately, she never got the chance.

Her head shot up at the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs beneath them. She glanced wildly around them, hoping for someplace to hide. There was none, making hiding an invalid choice.

She looked over to Will. He hadn't moved and though his eyes were open she knew he simply had no more strength. Running was not an option either.

That left only one venue.

Fight.

Scooting up, Elizabeth lifted her sword in her left hand and her pistol in the right. If someone thought they could come around that corner and hurt Will they were in for a rather unpleasant surprise.

**TBC...**


	24. Unexpected Turns

Thank you so much to reviewers Nicole Kazan, Arquenniel, AKA Parfait, shewhoshallwrite, willabeth0906, Telcontar Rulz, Lauren, and WillsElizabeth23! I love hearing what you all think!

Anonymous Reviewer Replies:

AKA Parfait: Thanks so much for the review! Ah, yes. Isaly. Her character was so much fun to develop! :)

Lauren: Thanks very much for the review! And here's the next chapter! I hope it lives up to your expectations.

WillsElizabeth23: Thanks so much for the review! Oh, yay! That means a lot! Yes, the Woods girls are in for quite the bumpy ride. Jack's new plans might be a long time in coming but he'll think of something. :) And Willabeth comfort will appear probably in the next chapter...

**Chapter 24: Unexpected Turns**

Mariel and Celia's first view of the corner was not in the least what they'd expected.

Two fierce brown eyes were turned on them over a pistol's barrel and a sword's blade. Streaming, honey brown hair tumbled over the slight shoulders, framing a tan but strikingly beautiful face.

Raising her hands in what she hoped to be a placating gesture, Mariel attempted to assert her intentions of peace. "S'il vous plait, non."

The woman remained unmoved but a dark figure slumped behind her straightened.

"Mademoiselle, nous ne pensons pas à mal." Mariel bumbled over the words, unaware that all she had yet to speak one word of English.

Celia, however, did notice. "Mariel, anglais."

"liz'be'h?" The dark figure mumbled, shifting towards them.

The woman's gaze never left Mariel and Celia though merely her expression informed them that she cared a great deal. Her voice was soothing as she said, "Everything's fine, Will."

Mariel couldn't have cared less for the woman's weapons at that instant. "Will? Monsieur Turner?"

The figure stood slowly as if with great effort, placed a hand on the rough wall and stumbled into their view.

"Will!" Mariel's apprehension melted away in relief at his familiar face. "It is you!"

* * *

Jack pummeled after the strange girl half wondering what on earth he, Captain Jack Sparrow, was doing following her while the other half of him fought not to urge her to run faster.

In the end, it was his drive towards self preservation that won out over a tale worthy of his reputation. This would be an occurrence to be locked away forever in the forgotten vault of stories in the very hindmost part of his brain so that no one would ever hear of it.

Secure in that knowledge, he opened his mouth to tell her to move faster. But his lips scarcely parted before she screeched to halt.

"Oi! What are you doing? Move! Run! Fast!" He waved his hands, wildly trying to get his point across.

She only whirled about. He was thought as if looking for something perhaps?

Jack would have commented. Unfortunately though, he saw what she had seen only moments previously.

A troop of redcoats were not only behind them but now in front of them. They were rapidly closing in on their prey and with no escape routes things didn't exactly look sunny.

That was what caused Jack to join in enthusiastically to the lass's search. For when one can't run, one must hide.

Precious minutes seemed to slip through their fingers like sand as they turned the place practically upside down.

The upheaval came to a swift halt though when Jack saw something, something that wouldn't normally stick out of a wall, unless it was the custom of Alabanza Vacia to use their walls as coat hangers. Particularly coat hangers that squashed the poor jacket between slabs of stone, leaving the unfortunate garment to stick out like some queer flag.

"Wot's this?" Jack poked the article of clothing suspiciously as if it would jump out and eat him. But the prodding resulted in nothing more than Jack's forefinger to go sore. He placed his boot on the wall and in an act of revenge grasped the coat tail with two smudged hands.

He vaguely noticed while tightening his grip that the lass, too, had stopped moving and was staring curiously over his shoulder. Pressing his lips in a thin line, he gave the cloth a quick, hard jerk.

Abruptly, the world was spinning. Was he moving forward or was that just his imagination?

Jack wasn't quite sure what happened until he realized he was laying face first in the dirt with something that smelled of lavender lying on top of him. There was a soft grunt, some rustling and then the weight was gone.

"Monsieur?"

Jack pulled himself to his feet and looked at the lass who'd been using him as a cushion. The words she'd spoken had caught his attention and he grinned broadly. "Ah, a French lass. I used to know a few of them. Lovely girls."

She turned a glare on him that was highly reminiscent of a certain amber eyed pregnant blond he knew. He cringed at the very thought. "Apologies." He murmured, pressing his hands together in a penitent manner.

After a long moment of staring she broke the contact and began to peer around them because they certainly weren't in the rainy streets anymore.

"Where are we?" she whispered, eyes glued in awe to the smooth earthen walls and roof surrounding them. Torches illuminated the small area, revealing a long passageway that curved and twisted to impede their view of the complete space.

"That," Jack lifted both forefingers, "is a very good question. One that also has a very good answer. We are, love, in a tunnel."

* * *

Jones sat brooding in his lair. One lone candle flickered on the table in front of him, leaving the rest of the earthen room in darkness. His eyes centered on the candle's flame and he couldn't help but be mesmerized by it.

Such a small but powerful thing. It held the grace of a dancer and the brute force of steel. It had the fragility of a rose petal and the strength to bring down cities. And perhaps it was that caught his attention.

The utter unpredictability of it all as the thing that kept it hedged in could also be the very thing that kept it alive. It fascinated him.

"My love," a soft voice purred in his ear and pulled him from his meanderings.

"Isaly," he relaxed under her fingers, the gentle touch slowly working the tightness from his shoulders. "Have they found Sparrow?"

"In the east tunnel, next to the tanner's home."

"Is Turner with him?"

"Unfortunately no. But Sparrow has a woman with him and I've heard from reputable sources that Turner's wife is on the island."

Jones turned to face her. "You think the woman is Turner's wife?"

"Aye."

"Jack Sparrow," Jones spat the name out like a curse, "is not known for fidelity. What makes you think this isn't another one of his women?"

"Henry, do you remember the woman that came with Sparrow? The one with child?"

He remembered the woman clearly enough. She looked disgusted with his entire operation which to him was downright insulting since she was no higher than he. She was, however, a pretty little thing for all of her uppity ideas. "Aye…"

"Who else could she be but his Sparrow's latest wench? She most certainly isn't Turner's wife for it's said that he married a governor's daughter. The woman who came with Sparrow knew how to handle a sword, anyone with eyes could have seen that. And tell me, what self respecting governor's daughter would learn swordplay?"

"Would you?"

"Of course, and you know well my skills in that department." She laughed lightly and pressed her lips to his temple. "But then, I am no Governor's daughter."

* * *

"Will, how do you know them?" Elizabeth struggled to keep the jealousy and irritation from her voice. He had obvious endured much. She would not add to his burden, even though the presence of these two girls sent spikes of pain through her heart.

"Saved…my life," Will's eyes drooped shut before he jerked them back open, "when I…got shot."

"Shot?" Elizabeth's pitch shot up to an earsplitting shriek, all thoughts of possible infidelity flying right out of her head. "Who? When?"

"Madame, we have no time for this talk." Mariel interjected impatiently. "The English. They are coming."

Elizabeth's face drained of color faster than anyone would have thought possible. "Will?" she asked tremulously. "Can you stand?"

"Liz'bet', jus' go." Will slurred drowsily, swatting her concerned hands away.

"Will, no, you're going to be fine. We will return home and fix up the nursery before the baby is born." Elizabeth hooked her arm around his waist and heaved.

Nothing happened.

Fighting the bile that rose in her throat at the thought of leaving her husband behind, she tried again, pulling harder. Her muscles strained to lift his larger frame. Yet the burden grew lighter and, a moment later, Will was standing.

Elizabeth felt a warm hand touch her own and saw the two French girls on Will's other side, bearing half of his weight. Gently, they smiled at her and she was surprised to find no suspicion or malice in those brown eyes…merely compassion.

"Are you ready?" she queried, hoping they had more strength than she. This day had thrown her far too many emotional upheavals.

"Yes." And they began forward.

For minutes there was only the sound of the patter of rain, their labored breathing, their heavy footsteps, Elizabeth's constant stream of murmuring to Will about their home in Port Royal, and the echo of gunfire from below.

"And we'll hang the curtains in the parlor just like you said." She puffed, remembering the pale linen Will preferred to the austere velvet that normally hung from windows. "Then we'll-"

A string of hoarse shouts in the crisp English accent and the clatter of approaching soldiers sounding above the torrents of the storm cut off her reassuring commentary.

"Redcoats! Quick! This way!" Elizabeth directed them towards a small shack in a dark alleyway.

A horrible stench emitted from the poor building. The only lighting was a meager lamp in the center of an overturned crate. Its weak beams of illumination barely reached the walls, leaving the corners to be hidden away in shadows. A tall rectangle of darkness kept Elizabeth from turning away. It could only be a doorway.

"In there." She pointed to the 'back room' of the hut, fighting to keep her stomach's contents as they continued into the filthy space.

The area reeked of strong liquor and pipe weed. Moisture dripped from the walls, collecting in rancid pools across the dirt pathway. Matted cloth covered the shabby windows and served as a door they had passed only moments ago.

Trying not to think of anything but Will's safety, they entered the dingy room. It was a bare room with only a sagging cot pushed against where the two far walls met.

Mariel sent Elizabeth a questioning glance before they began cramming themselves under the poor cot. The end result left Mariel and Celia stuffed on one side with Will and Elizabeth pressed together on the other.

Elizabeth's hands gently held his face against hers, the rough stubble on his chin tickling her cheek. She began to relax at each breath Will took, his gentle exhale spreading warmth along her neck. Her belly was pushed against him and as Will's hand came to rest along its form the child within settled as if it knew that its father was near.

As the foursome waited apprehensively, footsteps came and passed but none of them entered the little room. There were questioning shouts of searching infantrymen. Minutes passed and the streets returned to stillness.

Breathing easier, Elizabeth began to murmur in Will's ear to keep him awake, as he had fallen into a deep stupor induced by both pain and blood loss.

Celia, hearing the soon-to-be mother's soft words, was quickly losing the battle to hold still and she found herself struggling not to investigate a little nook about two inches long that protruded from the bed's surprisingly strong frame.

Time dragged on and Celia's fingers stroked the smooth pin.

Mariel noticed her sister's attentions and felt a note of trepidation rise within her. "Celia, what are you doing?"

Celia made to answer but suddenly the pinion moved into the bed frame with a firm thunk. There was a grating sound, followed by a loud click.

"Celia…" Mariel's tone became low and warning.

They waited for a long space of time, expecting at any moment for something terrible to happen. But there was nothing.

Celia blew out a breath and offered lamely. "Must have been a lose peg."

Elizabeth, upon hearing the soft chatter of French, moved closer to ask what had happened when suddenly the floor dropped out from underneath them. There was a final ominous bang and darkness consumed the light.

**TBC...**


	25. Chess Games

Thank you, thank you to willabeth 0906, shewhoshallwrite, AKA Parfait, master of time, Nicole Kazan, Telcontar Rulz, Wills_Elizabeth23, and lynxlan for the reviews! You all made my day!

Anonymous Reviewer Replies:

AKA Parfait: Thanks very much for the review! I know...that was a particularly bad one. But I hope this longer chapter will make up for it!

master of time: Thanks very much for the review! Its perfectly alright. In fact, I've got a TV show that I'm rather irritated with. My favorite character has shown some darker tendencies...but, it'll be okay. I'm really glad you're enjoyed the last two chapters!

Wills_Elizabeth23: Thanks very much for the review! Yes, indeed. Elizabeth hasn't been thinking very clearly for a few chapters so it's good indeed that Will was still somewhat lucid. :) It's amazing what happens when you realize that you could lose somewhat one you care about. Several of your questions will be answered in this chapter. And this chapter also has a healthy dose of Willabeth comfort.

**Chapter 25: Chess Games**

Jack and Elaine were making no process in navigating the dizzying passageways. Each one they tried sent them on a mind-boggling trek and often ended either with a dead end or right back where they started.

"Oi, this is bloody unhelpful." Jack muttered as they turned from yet another closed off tunnel.

"We try the left next time." Elaine gathered a fist full of skirt in her hand and traipsed up the sloping path, Jack tagging along behind her like a little lost puppy.

The cool air had turned muggy and the pair fought to keep their breathing even in the excessive heat as they continued on their beaten trail.

Jack couldn't help the furtive thought that tunnels were supposed to be cold and lovely and filled with things like rum. He desperately wished for a bit of rum just now. Just a sip, a smidgen, a trifling drop!

An audience of barmaids would be good, too, he decided. They would fritter away his hurts and listen, with wide eyes and baited breath, to his latest bout with ole' danger and despair, all the while supplying him with all the rum he could stomach.

"You know," he mentioned, throwing his hands about like a pair of lovesick doves, each trying to catch the other. "I've been told...when in doubt…to follow one's nose…and as I 'appen to 'ave a very fine one of them…how's 'bout I pick the tunnel next?"

"You think you can do better? Fine." Elaine placed her hands on her hips crossly and let out a puff of air to loosen the hair that had caught on her damp forehead. "You pick now."

"My intuitive sense and knowledge of the underground labyrinths, such as this one, would reveal that the…left tunnel would be the most correct choice in our current predicament." He grinned his infamous grin that made wenches swoon time and time again and was incredibly put out to see that Elaine's attention had already swept on to the tunnel he'd pointed out.

No matter. They'd be out of this stuffy place in no time. And quicker than you could say lickety-split he'd be lounging in his favorite tavern.

Matching her determined pace with his own, he pumped his arms faster and sauntered out ahead, for how was this excursion to succeed without him to lead it? A sharp corner was approaching and Jack was pleased to discover a whiff of fresh air.

Elaine murmured something softly in French and her steps quickened.

Jack, too, put on a fresh bout of speed and came around the corner about four paces before her, screeching to a halt.

"Sorry, mates, wrong tunnel." He swerved but a large hand came down on his collar. "A thousand 'pologies." He bowed penitently.

The grip didn't loosen and Jack was forced to face a room with five burly men crowded around a table littered with cards. Grim expressions were on their faces as they stood and moved forward menacingly.

"Oh, hello." He offered a little wave.

The frowns in the tanned faces became more prominent.

He heard a soft gasp and in a moment Elaine was hauled up next to him.

"Got us a couple of snipes, 'ave we?" The tallest man snarled, his thin lips moving over a set of rotting teeth.

"Looks like it." The brute behind Jack returned. His tone was considerably lower and rumbled with strength.

"Boss'll want to see them." The first man threw up his feet onto the table, laced his thin fingers together, and leveled a questioning on all of his mates. "Well, which of one of you is gonna do it?"

"You mean, leave the tunnels? To show boss a pair of weasels that's been sneakin' who knows where? Not me! I've 'aven't got no deaf-wish! I's 'ave a whole life of ahead of meself. Side's I 'aven't even collected me dues from Ricky! He owes me two pounds, ya know!" A man with sparse hair and a voice that was the polar opposite from Jack's brute said, scooting back into his rickety chair.

"Tyke, you go." The first man ordered.

"Not without something from you."

"And what would you be wantin' from me?" He held out two empty palms in a gesture of arrogant innocence but even a simpleton could see by the wide smirk that he did indeed have some possession of the brute's.

"My lucky rabbit's foot. Give it back and I take the rats to the boss."

"Done."

The furry appendage was thrown across the room, assured of its authenticity, and then, Elaine and Jack were being pushed down a whole new set of tunnels to an unknown destination.

* * *

The first thing Elizabeth felt was a large object that smelt of blood and saltwater lying across her bulging stomach. Shifting, she discovered that the object was in fact, Will.

She bolted forward and gently eased him into a more comfortable position before trying to make out anything in the consuming darkness.

Will moaned softly in pain and stirred.

She whispered a few words of comfort and began running her fingers along the smooth wall. It was dry and oddly crumbly. Her nose was filled with a pungent earthy scent and finally the wall's state of disrepair made sense.

They were in an underground tunnel.

As she investigated the area her hands bumped into a cool piece of metal protruding from the earthen wall. A moment more and she discovered that the twisted metal was actually a torch sconce. It was unlit and ready for service.

She fumbled for a bit longer and, after taking the flint stowed carefully in a niche next to the torch, light sprang to life. It was revealed that they were, indeed, in a tunnel, one with torches lining the smooth, dirt walls in intervals, waiting to be lit.

Celia and Mariel were lying in a heap a few yards away and as Elizabeth lit a second torch they straightened, faces glowing with apprehension in the flickering warmth.

"Where are we?" Celia asked softly, as if the walls might move in on them if they made too much noise.

"I don't know. Underground, at least." Elizabeth stroked her belly absently and moved back in front of Will. Her finger's brushed his temple and fresh tears stung her eyelids.

He had suffered so much. And she didn't even know the half of it.

Time seemed irrelevant as she sat watching over her sleeping husband. A tender smile crossed her lips briefly as the image of a much younger Will as she taught him to play chess…

_"No, no, Will, you mustn't move your knight like that. It's positively dreary!" Elizabeth fluttered a pale hand in exasperation at the board before them._

_His dark, expression filled eyes met hers, mortified at what he perceived to be another mistake. "Did I do something wrong? Should I move somewhere else? I didn't think your pawns were in reach-"_

_"No, no, none of my pieces can touch yours. Don't fret over that. It's simply that…"_

_He turned his head to the side in confusion. "Simply what?"_

_"Well, it's just that…why make such a safe move when one could risk things?" Elizabeth's breath quickened at the very thought. Perhaps that was what excited her so about pirates. "Move the bishop and you could have a clean shot at my King."_

_"Miss Swann…"_

_"Elizabeth," She replied firmly. "Miss Swann sounds so old and stuffy. I __am__ only twelve, you know."_

_"Very well, but I still don't understand why my move was unwise. I've looked over this board dozens of times and it still seems like the most sensible choice."_

_"But don't you wish to take a chance? A risk?" She leaned forward, her eyes widening, and her hands tightly gripping the table's woodwork._

_Will shook his head decidedly, lips pressed tightly together. "I don't believe in heading for disaster. When something is out of reach it is foolish to chase after it."_

_"Where is your sense of adventure?" She teased._

_"Adventure is meant for your pirate books. Not for ordinary people."_

_"Don't you even like to think of what it might be like to have a dream come true?"_

_He gave an apathetic, little shake of his head and his eyes fell back to the chess board._

_"Oh, come now, you must have something that you dream to have all your own."_

_He was silent for a long moment and Elizabeth thought briefly that he hadn't heard her. His voice was quiet and his gaze refused to meet hers as he finally spoke._

"_Something." He paused before quickly amending his statement with, "But it is foolish.""No dream is foolish, Will. That is why they're called dreams because no one can tell you that they're impossible."_

_"That was very well put."_

_"My mother used to tell me that." She noticed the misery etching itself over Will's features and continued. "Besides, I hope your dream comes true and with two dreaming together the odds are much better."_

_A strange expression flew over his face before he smiled brightly, if a tad strained, and Elizabeth couldn't help thinking that he didn't really believe her. _

_"It's your turn, Elizabeth."_

_The use of her name cut off the comment she'd been about to voice and instead, she turned her attention back to the chess pieces._

The memory faded and the pain in Elizabeth's heart multiplied tenfold. She had been the one to encourage Will to take risks and now he lay before her bloodied and bruised all because he had taken a chance.

Elizabeth's reflections were broken by a timid interjection from Mariel. "Madame? We've found a room."

"A room?" Elizabeth hadn't even been aware that they had left her. "Where?"

"It's just around that corner." Mariel pointed farther down the narrow tunnel. "It has clean linens and a salve of some kind."

"What? Why on earth would that be here?" Elizabeth got to her feet, brow furrowed.

"I do not know. But I've brought you some of it." She placed a small pot in Elizabeth's hands.

Elizabeth smelled it cautiously, expecting some vile odor to fill her senses. No, it smelled quite nice actually, strong but not unpleasant. A bit of aloe perhaps…something else…opium, maybe? She wrinkled her nose at another pungent whiff.

"This is a painkilling mixture." Mariel offered, her quick fingers dipping into the jar and showing its mild green color. "We used to make them for mother." She caught Elizabeth's discomfort at the potency. "Do not worry. That is burdock root you smell. It's harmless and very good for wounds."

"But why would this be down here?"

"This is a pirate's lair, no?"

"Yes."

"They get hurt often." Mariel shrugged.

"Yes," Elizabeth's heart beat a little faster. "Yes, and Jones' men did have these strange cuts along their backs…"

"As punishment, perhaps?"

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes falling on Will.

"Could you use it…for Monsieur Turner? There are long strips of clean linen as well."

The young mother-to-be turned back to her French companion, a true smile gracing her features. "Yes, I believe we could."

It took several minutes but with Mariel and Celia both working at a fast pace, Elizabeth was soon provided with a good amount of clean bandages and three round pots of the salve.

"Alright," Elizabeth passed a hand over her forehead. "His overcoat and shirt need to be removed." Huffing and puffing, the three of them managed to strip the offending garments away and roll their patient onto his stomach.

Elizabeth's blood froze when his back came into view. "What…" she whispered hoarsely. "What is that?"

Will's back was torn and bloodied almost beyond recognition. Most of the crimson blood had dried and the edges of the long wounds had begun to heal but at their center they could only be torture to endure.

"He was punished unfairly, Madame." Celia's words were infused with comfort and a gentle hand brushed her shoulder.

All she could think, however, was her poor, darling Will and what he must have suffered. "Oh, Will."

"He was brave and strong. You would have been very proud of him."

And Elizabeth was, so very, very proud. No one should have had to gone through such torture and to think that her husband…

"Madame? We must clean the wounds or they will fester…"

"Yes, yes." Elizabeth's eyes were damp and her hands trembled but Will needed her. He needed her to be strong and she would be.

The trio bent forward and their work to save Will began.

* * *

The last rays of the day were tucking themselves away when Hawthorne stood in the halfway up Alabanza Vacia's summit. He was currently bent over a crude sketch of the city's layout and his aides stood nearby to relay orders.

"Captain!"

Hawthorne rolled his eyes and whirled on the unfortunate soul. Were all the men under his command inept? Couldn't they see that he was busy? "What?!"

"We've found Sparrow," the infantry man's voice trembled at his superior's expression and he added, as if offering an olive branch, "sir."

"And? Is there anyone with him?"

"Aye, sir."

"Well, who was it?"

"One of the French maids."

At first, Hawthorne felt like giving this measly soldier a piece of his mind for interrupting him with that shred of worthless information until he realized something. Turner had escaped with the French girls… "Wait," he lifted a hand to stay the man's retreat. "One of the French girls?"

"Aye, sir."

"Where were they found?"

The soldier shook his head helplessly. "Jones wouldn't say."

"You mean to tell me that a lying, thieving, cheating scum bag pirate wouldn't tell you where they were found and you just let him get away with it?"

The soldier gulped, and rightly so, for Hawthorne was advancing on him like a vengeful demon, each great step promising retribution.

"You thick-headed numbskull!" he seized the soldier's collar and shook it until the younger man's teeth rattled, roaring, "Turner was with the French girls so obviously they are where he is! To anyone with two bits of sense, that would mean that where they found Sparrow is undoubtedly where they will find Turner!"

**TBC...**


	26. Developments

Thank you so much to all who reviewed! Calenlass Greenleaf1, willabeth0906, AKA Parfait, Wills_Elizabeth23, shewhoshallwrite, master of time, sweetmissbean, and Telcontar Rulz: You made my day!! :D

Anonymous Review Replies:

master of time: Thank you so much for the review! I've had a lot of fun with Jack's character. He's just so unpredictable that it makes a good foil against Will's steady, sure character.

Wills_Elizabeth23: Oh, I'm so glad you liked it. Actually, Jack and Elaine are still with Jones' men (I'm sorry if that was confusing). But I wouldn't worry too much for their safety as Jack always manages to get what he wants. And yes, the tunnels aren't a very safe place at all for Will/Elizabeth/Mariel/Celia. The flashback was really neat to write as I haven't gotten to write much young Will/Elizabeth. There should be a bit more Willabeth comfort in this chapter. :) Thanks very much for the review!

**Chapter 26: Developments**

His hair had a touch of red in it.

Elizabeth hadn't ever noticed that before.

In the gentle light of the tunnel, his unruly locks became a riot of chestnut browns, deep mahogany, and the slightest hint of red.

Her slender fingers brushed back the soft strands at his temple, eyes lingering on his battered face.

Each feature was carefully tucked away in her memory. The nose, slightly crooked from their many adventures as children, the chin, lightly dusted with facial hair, the eyes, closed away from the world as his mind wandered in dreams.

If there was one thing that set Will apart, it was his eyes.

They were so expressive, so deep, so full of him. A swirling fusion of warm browns, just the chocolate they'd shared on her twelfth birthday. One glance and she couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

Her musings were broken when Will shifted, his brow wrinkling in anxiety before he sank back, the disquiet melting away with a gentle murmur from Elizabeth.

Lovingly taking his hand in hers, she nestled further against her husband and listened as his breathing evened out. She ran her thumb along back of his hand and felt the abrasions there.

Her heart beat faster as she was reminded for the hundredth time at what he had been put through. But now they would return home, the baby would be born, and all would be well…wouldn't it?

* * *

"He wishes what?!" Jones fumed. He slammed his fist into the table with such force that the poor structure nearly cracked. "I am not one of his lackeys! If he dare order me about there will be not be enough left of his army to scrub a deck let alone to conquer my home!"

Isaly sighed gently. "Henry, my love, I think Hawthorne merely wishes to finish this once and for all. And besides, where else besides the tunnels could Turner be hiding?"

"I will not allow some idiotic fop and his equally foolish soldiers to trample through my lair! You know as well as I that Alabanza Vacia is not what lies on the surface but what is beneath!"

"Hawthorne does not have to enter the tunnels."

"Does it matter? Even if our men search the tunnels, he will demand an explanation, the bilge rat, and I will not solicit his pandering, conniving ways!"

"Henry," Isaly slid up against his chest and ran her slender hands along the smooth fabric of his tunic. "Please, calm yourself. This situation is not altogether lost. Remember what I spoke of earlier this day."

The fury eased away from his shoulders and his expression softened. "Isaly, you have a quick mind." The tips of his fingers brushed her cheek and a smile flitted across his face.

She allowed the edges of her mouth to curl, knowing that his anger had been abated for now. "Aye, and it wants to think no more of this state of affairs. Send out the men and let them find Turner. Hawthorne will have his prize and we can be alone again."

* * *

Will awoke like one being pulled from a mud pit, slowly and laboriously. And he immediately regretted his efforts.

There wasn't one inch of him that did not ache with a vengeance. Every muscle burned with pain and he hadn't even tried to move. His eyes felt as though they had ten pound weights attached to them and moving them was hardly even considered.

He decided grimly that a return to his dreamless slumber was far less painful and therefore the course of action he would take.

"Will,"

Suddenly, he fighting the battle to waken, shaking off the last dredges of his lethargy like a man swimming up from the bottom of a pool. Thick cotton felt as though it'd been clogged around his wits but with firm fingers he plucked it away and forced his weary body to respond. Finally, his eyes shot open and he glanced about wildly trying to find her. He wanted, needed to know that she was safe.

There.

She knelt beside him and was close enough that he could feel the gentle cadence of her breath washing over his cheeks, a comforting welcome to the icy, wet wind he had been accustomed to. Her cool fingers stroked his pulsing head, her soft, honey colored locks tumbling over her stooped shoulders, brushing his ear and neck.

He had to ask. He had to know. "Are you hurt? Is the baby-"

Her hand moved his to her belly and the child within squirmed restlessly. "We're fine." Elizabeth's tone was as smooth and beautiful as he remembered.

Her lips parted in a full smile as he stared back up at her, scarcely hoping to breathe lest she vanish, when she closed the bare distance between them and kissed him with all the tender love they'd ever had.

She pulled back after a long moment and continued her gentle ministrations.

"Where are we?"

"Some kind of tunnel."

Will shifted a little and was surprised to find clean, white, linen securely fastened around his aching ribs. "How long have I been asleep?"

"It's difficult to say…six or seven hours would be my guess."

"Hours?" Will started to stand but Elizabeth wouldn't have that.

"Please, Will, you mustn't strain yourself."

Reluctantly, he leaned back at her insistence but as he did so a sharp bolt of pain lanced through his head. When the pain receded Elizabeth was leaning over him, a worried expression enveloping her face.

"How do you feel?" She inquired softly.

"I'm fine."

Elizabeth raised a brow at that but did not comment, knowing better than to argue with her stubborn husband when it came to his wellbeing. She opted for changing the subject instead. "Here, Mariel and Celia have been exploring and they found this for you."

A long necked bottle of strong brandy was pressed into his hand. "Elizabeth?"

Her eyes were fastened to her hands currently lying idle in her lap. "I've never condoned drinking but it will help with the pain."

He was unsure of how to proceed before a stinging pain burned up his back. Pulling the stopper, he drew a deep breath and took a gulp of the awful stuff. He'd drunk liquor before and had never understood the attraction. It burned from the moment your tongue touched and continued to wreak its torture long after you'd swallowed.

Wincing at the bitter aftertaste, he leaned his head back against the earthen wall and let the alcohol do its work.

Elizabeth watched meekly as he took sip after sip and in a relatively short span of time he'd consumed a quarter of it.

He was lifting the glass bottle for another swig when Celia and Mariel entered. Their faces were white and in their haste they forgot to speak entirely in English.

"Madame! Monsieur! They are coming, les pirates! Ils nous suivent!"

Elizabeth, too, paled and she immediately hooked an arm around her husband. "Will, we have to go now."

He didn't question her judgment. After all, she was the one that had managed to learn the tangles of their language, not he.

They stumbled to their feet and began to trek down the tunnels at the fastest pace Will could manage. Voices slowly became more pronounced and it was not long before they could hear the entire words and phrases.

"You check that passage?"

"Lumpy, look in the storage room!"

"Hey Peters! You come with me."

"Bloody pirates…"

Elizabeth tightened her grasp about Will's waist and moved her feet a tad swifter. "Just a bit longer, Will." She whispered in his ear.

He was breathing harshly and his head was lowered to better find the obstacles in his path but he sent her a brusque smile and nod in response.

A new shock of strength found its way to Elizabeth's weary limbs the instant she saw those dark brown eyes so full of adoration. She would be strong. Will was counting on her now.

Time was short and tension was heavy in the air as they made their way through the tunnels, knowing that at any moment they could falter and be caught. So, it was with great relief that Elizabeth caught sight of a long shaft of moonlight.

"Will, Mariel, Celia! Look!" She pointed down a tunnel that branched away from them to where a rectangle of glorious slivery-blue light spilled over the dirt floor. "That must lead outside!"

Huffing and puffing, they crossed the threshold and entered a world raging with rain, thunder, and lightning. In moments, they were soaked through. The cobbled streets were choked with water and the stones were growing more slippery with each step.

They were coming to a turn in the road and the overhang of the shops prevented any view farther down when Will sagged to his knees.

"Eliz…Elizabeth…" he wheezed, "need a minute…goin'…too fast."

Elizabeth's heart took a pained jump at the haggard appearance of her husband. He'd simply been through too much in too short a span of time. The wear was harsh and he was already weak under the strain. It would be cruel to ask him to continue much farther.

She scrutinized their surroundings and saw no haven to hide away in. Inwardly ranting at herself, she leant forward, laying a gentle hand on Will's brow, and asked, "Will, darling, we must continue. There isn't any place to rest here." Her voice trembled and tears bit at her eyelids.

"Can't…'liz…beth…hurts…"

"I know, my love, I know it hurts. But we mustn't stop."

Will groaned and in the darkening sky Elizabeth saw his teeth clench. With a shuddering effort, he managed to stand again. "Le's go."

Feeling her love for this incredible man swell, Elizabeth started them off again. It was even slower than before but it was movement, and they could only be grateful for that. The bend in the road was steep and they were all forced to pull down their gaze to keep from slipping on the treacherous roadways.

Too late, they heard the clattering of boots. Soldiers swarmed around them, closing in on the foursome like a noose.

Will's head darted up and he immediately pushed his weight off Elizabeth and pressed her behind him. His eyes were wide and alert as they flicked over each new threat.

"Give it up, Turner!" A voice Will didn't recognize called out.

"No!" Will's arm tightened around Elizabeth's waist.

"Really, I would have thought you to have a least some sense." A young woman with blond curls tumbling around a smudged but exquisite face stepped from the shadows. "After all the praises we've heard of you…" she tsked lightly.

"Isaly," Elizabeth growled. "Has it truly come to pirates betraying pirates?"

"Please," Isaly snorted derisively, "Jack Sparrow is hardly a credit to the pirate name. His tales are overblown and it's by sheer luck that he's still among the living. And you…you aren't any more of a pirate than him. A blacksmith and a little tart," she chuckled a little, "hardly pirate material."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed and her lips compressed. "What do you want?"

"Your good friend Hawthorne wishes to have a chat with you."

Will, meanwhile, was beginning to tremble from the strain. Yet one would never know the pain he was in from his facial expression. "Take me and leave them. They're not what Hawthorne's after."

Isaly raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing around her painted lips. "Indeed?"

"They've never been what Hawthorne wanted. Leave them alone and I'll come quietly."

"Will-" Elizabeth tried to move but Will's grip was stronger than she'd anticipated.

"It's a tempting offer, I must say. But I'm not feeling generous. So sorry." Isaly's grin turned devilish and she waved the soldiers on.

**TBC...**


	27. Expendability

Thank you so much to my reviewers: Willabeth0906, Calenlass Greenleaf1, Telcontar Rulz, lynxlan, AKA Parfait, shewhoshallwrite, master of time, and Wills_Elizabeth23!! You have all brought huge grins to my face!! I can't tell you how much I appreciate the time you take to tell me what you think!!

Anonymous Reviewer Responses:

AKA Parfait: Thanks so much for the review! Isaly is really on her own side. So, if it benefits her, then she'll probably be interested. :)

master of time: Thanks so much for the review! Yup, you've got it. I had a lot to set-up, but now we're getting back into the good stuff. I hope you enjoy it!

Wills_Elizabeth23: You made it! :) Actually, I'm getting pretty late for the update myself. Yay! You're enjoying the story! Sorry about the suspense. I just can't seem to help myself. Thanks so much for the review!

**Chapter 27: Expendability**

Jack had officially decided he didn't particularly relish being carted around by His Majesty's Royal Navy. It put a damper on the feeling of freedom. And besides, only so many stories could be told about evading soldiers. Wenches would much rather hear about the conquering of a vicious, black-hearted fellow pirate.

Jack and Elaine had been dumped rather unceremoniously in the crumbling ruins of what looked to be a veritable fortress. Four guards were placed over them to keep watch and then no further attentions had come their way.

Water, however, seemed prone to follow Jack wherever he wedged himself. He shifted again and sighed in relief with the barrage of rain landed out of range of his left pant leg. He was nearly relaxed, smirking cheekily at the guards, when a rain drop landed squarely on his nose with a loud 'plop'.

"Can't somebody fix the roofin' on this place?" he snarled and swiped the droplet away, resituating himself with a grumble. He glanced across the poor excuse for a shelter and saw Elaine slumped against one wall. As the hours had passed, she'd grown weary and had succumbed to a heavy slumber. She hadn't moved since.

Time dragged by and Jack appeared to have escaped the rain. However, now he had nothing to entertain himself with. So, with a decidedly impish glint to his dark eyes, he took it upon himself to acquire a diversion by annoying his guards.

"Why is it that you four were assigned guard duty? Made the Captain angry? Drank his rum?"

The closest soldier shot him a glare and turned back to staring out at the rain.

"Ah, that must be it then. Drinkin' from your superior's stash." Jack shook his head in mock pity. "It's a sad thing to be deprived of rum, sadder still to be stuck wif a pirate and no rum."

The soldier didn't answer.

"An' that must be why you, an' him, an' him, an' him can't even speak for your bloody selves." Jack noticed, with a growing smirk of satisfaction, the faint blush of irritation spreading over the man's face.

However, the moment of triumph was lost when the guard stood and moved to the edge of the shelter several yards away. "What 'ave you got?" he demanded of a group just out of Jack's line of vision.

"More prisoners. Hawthorne said to keep them here for now." A new voice answered.

"Alright, bring 'em in." The guard gestured impatiently and in moments a new cluster of prisoners, soaking wet and shivering, were hustled into the rudimentary shelter.

As the lantern light spilled over their faces one by one Jack saw two young girls who appeared uncannily like Elaine, and the familiar face of Elizabeth. But what was most astonishing was the person that was being shoved closely behind her.

Entering the temporary prison, littered with bruises and bound tightly, was Will Turner.

"Bugger, whelp. You look like the kraken used you for a chew toy."

Will offered a weak smile before he was given a particularly malicious shove, sending him crashing into the dirt floor with a muffled grunt.

Elizabeth was at his side immediately, her gentle hands helping him sit up and brushing the loose strands of dark hair away from his battered face.

"Clumsy bilge rat." The guard muttered and spat in Will's direction. He spun on his heel and stalked out, oblivious to the venomous look Elizabeth shot him.

"'e's pleasant." Jack remarked sourly.

Will didn't seem to notice and said hoarsely, "Jack, they've been tracking you…you've got…to get out of here."

"You have my thanks for a most unhelpful piece of advice."

"No, Jack, you don't…understand." Will paused for a rattling breath of air.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow." Jack leaned back with an unconcerned air about him. "People are always coming after me…'s water under the bridge, mate."

But Will persisted. "You've been transporting things…for the American rebels…that makes you a thorn in their side."

"Will, please, don't tax yourself." Elizabeth pinned Jack with a firm glare.

"Wha's the matter with the whelp?"

Elizabeth chose not to answer him and instead tried to get Will to relax. "Just breathe, Will, everything will be fine." She had gently nestled his head onto her shoulder and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, keeping precious warmth between the two of them.

Slowly, Will's breathing evened out and his eyelids drooped closed. Elizabeth breathed a soft sigh of relief the instant she was sure he was asleep. She began to stroke his hair to ensure that he remained that way for a good time to come.

"What happened to 'im?" Jack's voice was genuinely concerned this time.

She felt her eyes burn and her vision blur. Her gaze met Jack's. "He's been through so much. I don't know how he's survived." She angrily wiped off the hot tears that wormed down her filthy cheeks. "There are whip marks on his back, a gunshot wound on his stomach, countless bruises and scratches all over."

Her time for being strong had waned and she couldn't bear it any longer. The tears came thick and fast, so heavy that she felt Will's hair beneath her chin grow damp. "I just don't know what will happen to him, to us."

"Ever'thing's gonna be fine." Jack murmured, uncomfortable with this display of emotion.

"Will it, Jack? Will it truly?" She made a truly pitiable picture as she stared up at the pirate Captain, blond locks snarled and filthy, eyes red and cheeks streaked with tear tracks.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. We'll find some way outta this."

"Promise?"

"On me mum's grave."

Elizabeth smiled. It was small and trembled precariously, but it was a smile. "Thank you, Jack."

* * *

Isaly had done her job and she thought she'd done it rather well. Turner and his cohorts were in British hands without having to compromise the location or even the existence of the tunnels.

The group of scum that had been selected to take over Hawthorne's ship were even now in place to make their move. This day would be of great profit to both she and Jones. In fact, if she played things correctly, she might be the captain of a ship before the sun set.

And that was a tantalizing thought.

Now all that mattered was to ensure that the vagabonds didn't botch the entire thing with some overly confident move. The true key to working with such men was patience, and impeccable timing.

Gathering her skirts, she began the trek towards the docks. Perhaps another dress would be in store for her as well. Her current garment was becoming a little ragged around the edges. Besides, she didn't care for the color.

A slight 'clang' brought her to a quick halt, thoughts of new dresses dissipating instantly. Her eyes narrowed to mere slits as she inspected the area. Idiots. Irritated, she called out, "State your business."

Scuffles and heavy footsteps echoed down the narrow street until a round man with thick sideburns appeared from behind a stack of crates and barrels, followed by a few scraggly crewmembers.

"Miss Isaly?"

"What?" She snapped. If they hid behind things and then expected her to be courteous then they had something else coming.

"I've come to negotiate."

"And what can you possibly have that I want?"

He fidgeted, obviously concerned with something. "It's about Jack…"

"And why would I want to help him?"

"Well…" the large man trailed off at her scathing glare.

"That bilge rat got himself into trouble, and I'm not getting him out." She smirked at the downfall in the first mate's expression. "Besides, he's always bragging about being so clever…give him a chance to live up to his bloated words."

"But…uh, well, you see…"

"What? No faith in your captain?" Her grin grew as the crew shuffled their feet.

"There's more than just the Cap'n that we want safe, see?" The first mate—was he called Gipps?—seemed to have been elected spokesman.

"Ah…his strumpet, then?" At their confused expressions, she elaborated. "The one with child?"

"That be Miss Elizabeth Turner."

Isaly glanced from gaze to gaze. "Turner, as in William Turner's wife?"

He nodded.

So, the blonde woman was the infamous governor's daughter who had learned swordplay. But that didn't mean she was going to leap to save this stranger. Although, she might see what they would offer her…if it was of value, then perhaps it was worth a bit of effort on her part. "Why should I help you?"

"Jack's got a compass…"

* * *

"Alright, you scum." The guard ordered tersely. "We're moving out, Hawthorne's orders."

Elizabeth's head flew up and she opened her mouth to protest. Will had only been asleep for maybe an hour. To wake him now would be cruel.

Jack, however, cut in before she could even form the first syllable. "It's been splendiferous to meet you all." He commented blithely, a winning grin on his face. "We'll try hard not to pine over your grouchy, irritable selves."

The guard's upper lip curled. He reached out, catching Jack by his collar and heaving the pirate to his feet. "Move." He accompanied the work with such a glare that it silenced even Jack.

Despite Elizabeth's objections, Will was slapped into the waking world and hauled to his feet with the rest of them. Each prisoner was seized by the elbow and yanked out of the shelter, a platoon of soldiers falling into place behind them.

As the grim procession made its way through the crumbling remains of Alabanza Vacia Jack noticed the particular cruelty their escorts paid Will. Several times they cuffed him on the back of the head for no apparent reason at all. Once they tried to trip him though somehow Will managed to keep his feet under himself.

They kept at a harsh pace and soon the bay's tumultuous depths were stared back at them. Not even pausing for a breath, the soldiers loaded Elaine, Mariel, Elizabeth, Jack and Will into the boats.

Elizabeth sat huddling in the back of her boat, striving to keep both her unborn child and Will warm in the pouring rain. He leant against her heavily, his hot breath washing against her neck at a rapid pace.

Lightning crackled and thunder boomed overhead, painting the black sky with a flood of silver and pale blue. Ahead the Waking Power waited. Its were sails carefully stowed and anchor deep in the sea, the hull resting on the dark waves like a sleeping dragon. One wrong move and it would leap to life, guns bellowing fire and smoke.

The longboats came aside the Waking Power before long they stood on her main deck. Hawthorne looked down on them from the forecastle deck. "When will you learn that running from me is futile, Turner?"

"When you learn that I will not be your pawn." Will straightened, taking a deep breath, and looking Hawthorne right in the eyes.

"You are becoming an increasing nuisance, Turner, and you and your wife have become expendable since I now have your…" here Hawthorne glanced at Jack and wrinkled his nose in distaste, "charming friend, Jack Sparrow."

"Captain, Captain Jack Sparrow, actually." Jack chimed in.

"Your ship, captain? I haven't seen it anywhere."

"Temporarily on leave."

"We ought to arrange a welcoming committee for it then. After all, the infamous Black Pearl is no ordinary ship." Hawthorne's smile couldn't have been wider.

"Me crew's used to be underappreciated."

"You won't be here." The Navy captain turned to an aide. "Kipper? Tell the crew to be on watch for the Black Pearl."

"Aye, sir." The soldier nodded and scampered off.

"Now, Turner, where were we?"

Will glared up at him. He'd edged slowly in front of Elizabeth as Jack and Hawthorne had spoken so that she was almost completely hidden by his larger frame.

"Ah, yes! Expendable…" Hawthorne motioned to a pair of guards. "The girl."

Will's eyes narrowed as the two men approached. His shoulders tensed and he crouched slightly. But his attention was so focused in front of him that he failed to see the two moving from the side.

Elizabeth felt an arm close around her waist and yank back. She reached out and grasped for Will's jacket, anything. "Will!" A hand fell over her mouth and before Will could turn a cold gun barrel was placed on her temple.

**TBC...**


	28. Eye of the Storm

Many, many thanks to shewhoshallwrite, Calenlass Greenleaf1, willabeth0906, Telcontar Rulz, Smithy, sweetmissbean, AKA Parfait, Wills_Elizabeth23, and BloomBabyGirl for the wonderful reviews! It is such an encouragement to know that people are reading and enjoying this story! :D

Anonymous Reviewer Replies:

Smithy: Thank you so much for the review! :) I'm afraid I can't say much more or I'll give away the chapter. So, enjoy!

Wills_Elizabeth23: Thanks very much for the review! Yay! You liked the chapter! And I'm afraid this chapter has more packed in it than the last, perhaps even too much...anyway, enjoy!

BloomBabyGirl: Thanks very much! I'm glad to have you along! :)

**Chapter 28: Eye of the Storm**

"No!" Will lunged forward but two men caught him by the arms, still bound firmly behind him. "Let her go!"

"Turner, I won't be able to do that until you've paid me." Hawthorne began to walk down the stairway, each step an echoing 'thump'. "And the debt you've worked up is considerable."

"Debt?" Will's brow crinkled. "What debt?"

"A man's reputation is volatile thing, wouldn't you agree?"

"If this is about money take what you want, any of it, all of it! Just don't hurt Elizabeth."

Hawthorne stepped to the main deck with a thump. "Oh, this isn't about money Turner. This is something between you and me. Someone needs to show you your place in life." He circled Will like a wolf taunting its victim, "and your station in life, Turner, is a low one. You are a tradesman, a blacksmith. In the great lay of things, you are a speck.

"Your pride needs to be lowered a few notches. A marriage to a governor's daughter is hardly a premise for that haughty insubordination you've been flaunting."

"What do you want?" Will ground out, taking no pains to disguise the hate that burned in him for this man that dare threaten his family.

"I want you to feel pain." Hawthorne snarled. "I want to see you grovel before me like the piece of grime you are."

"Leave Elizabeth out of this and I'll do anything you want."

Elizabeth's heart plummeted to her ankles. No! Don't do this, Will, she wanted to cry out but she couldn't. There was nothing she could do but watch, watch and pray.

"Fight me." Hawthorne took a pace back and withdrew his sword, the lightning flashing off the blade like white fire. "I've heard much of your skill with a blade. Let us see if the stories are true."

"What about Elizabeth?"

"I'll make you a deal, Turner, since I'm such a generous man. You defeat me and she goes free, unharmed and with provisions. I defeat you and well…I do hope she likes living as a slave."

Elizabeth wrenched herself free for an instant. The words thrumming in her head bursting through her cold lips. "Will, no!"

His deep brown eyes caught hers for a moment and then they flicked to Hawthorne, narrowing in dark resolve. "And if I refuse to fight?"

"I wonder how long it would take her to scream." Hawthorne smiled wickedly and left the rest to Will's imagination.

Will's answer was almost instantaneous. "Give me a sword."

"Excellent." Hawthorne signaled to the soldiers. They approached Will, threw a sword down a few yards away, and cut his bonds. Muttering derisively, they shoved him to his knees and stalked away.

Will leaned forward and gently lifted the blade they'd given him. It was notched and well used but the balance was good and the handle was smooth in his palm. He looked up and saw Hawthorne standing on the opposite side of the ship, triumph and eager bloodlust in his stance.

Slowly pulling himself up, Will clutched the sword tighter. He sent Elizabeth a swift glance, smiling reassuringly at her and trying not to see the bruise near her temple and the tears sparkling on her cheeks.

Then, with a deep breath, he faced his opponent, drawing on his last vestiges of strength for the fight that would either save his family or doom it.

* * *

Don't you count me  
Out 'cause I've fallen  
Out 'cause I've fallen down  
I have landed  
Down on my knees, oh  
Down on my knees again  
This is where I'll find the strength to carry on  
This is where I'll find the strength to stand

I'm gonna be the last one standing  
Fighting for something much bigger than me  
I'm gonna be the last one standing here  
_Last One Standing_

_By MercyMe_

The two fought as men from the great tales of the past. Cold steel flashed like the lightning splitting across the inky sky, illuminating the combatants' set expressions.

All that could be heard was the rumble of thunder, shaking even the core of the ship with each roar, the crack of lighting, the pouring rain, and the clash of metal. All those watching dared to breathe.

Icy, pale blue light struck the sky, revealing the hard, sadistic black eyes of one and the determined, passionate deep brown of another.

They were great and feral lions caught in a battle to define their very selves. Leaping and twisting, they exchanged bright flashes of metal. Their dark coats melted into the obsidian sky even as the frigid rain melded with the blood staining one lion.

Elizabeth couldn't have torn her gaze away from the fight if her life had depended on it. Everything ached when she thought of what might happen if Will lost. He would be hurt. And she could do nothing but watch it happen, tearing her apart from the inside.

Her eyes were glued to the form of her husband and each deft move he made. She knew deep in her bones that Will was becoming more and more sluggish with every spent in the dusty, cool blacksmith shop had shown her his style, his tendencies, his power. His skill was almost nonexistent in the overwhelming tide of his wounds. His parries were sloppy and his attacks carried no muscle behind them.

Hawthorne easily swept them aside. While Will's face was gaunt and his chest heaved for air, Hawthorne was breathing easily; his eyes were alight with the thrill of combat.

Elizabeth saw Hawthorne's lips move but the storm swallowed the words. Will's face tensed and he attacked with a fresh bout of strength. Hawthorne darted back and threw two more taunts out, grinning madly when Will's eyes darkened.

A crew member must have caught the words as well for he laughed wickedly and threw a rope out to catch Will's ankle. The cruel action did its work well, coiling around Will's booted foot. The burly man yanked on his line and Will was sent crashing to the deck. Immediately, Elizabeth's prayers began anew.

* * *

"They're making way!" Isaly slammed her palms into the wooden rail as she watched the Waking Power slip away into the pouring rain and darkness. "Those filthy curs are making way!"

"Miss?"

She turned on the fool that interrupted her with all the wrath that ripped through her veins. "What?"

"Jones, ma'am, he's been knocked out."

Isaly's eyes flicked behind the idiot to see two more lackeys bearing Jones' heavy weight between them like a sack of flour. That meant she was in control of all his men. They would not contest her. They knew better.

A slow grin spread over her face, and the hunger that had been smoldering inside her for the Waking Power ignited to flame. "Get me the Pearl's crew. We plan an attack."

* * *

Will's anger was mounting. He knew full-well that Hawthorne was baiting him, wearying him with taunts and harmless attacks. He also knew that his emotions could not preside over logic, not in a battle with such high stakes.

Rolling to the side and wincing at the pain it sent up his torso, he slid along the deck, sliced the rope that had captured his ankle neatly, and spun up to his feet. His vision swam and his head pounded fiercely but the move was worth the pain.

Hawthorne's face had reddened in frustration and he was walking forward with an aura that promised conquest. He raised his sword and gave Will only an instant to respond.

And Will did. The blades met with a fierce 'clang'. They sliced away and Hawthorne flew in a series of neat cuts and blows, all avidly fueled. "Impressive, Turner, I must say."

Will's attention was consumed with defending the array of assaults leaving him with no verbal response. But even if he had one, he knew better than to waste precious breath.

"But I'm afraid you will have to do better than this to keep your wife." Hawthorne twisted his blade up and caught Will's left shoulder.

The pain was terrible. Will drew back, clutching at the new wound.

"And they said you were a master…" Hawthorne grinned derisively and lunged again.

Their swords tangled and after a flurry of exchanges Hawthorne's taunting resumed. "Your wife looks concerned, Turner."

Will pointedly drowned the biting words from his mind. He had to focus. He couldn't afford to lose control. Elizabeth and the baby were counting on him.

Hawthorne threw down two hard blows before their blades locked and Will was forced to face the man that had caused so much trouble and grief. The lightning flashed in the captain's eyes and the lurid glaze there sent shivers up Will's spine. "How did you ever persuade a lovely little thing like her to marry someone like you? Was it by force?"

Will's teeth gritted and he wrenched hard to the side but failed in freeing his sword.

"I wonder…perhaps she'd rather become my wife."

That was it. Will's anger surged forward, breaking all metal restraints and barriers. It gushed out, spilling over his weary muscles and gifting him with fresh strength. "You won't touch her!" he bellowed, and after a fierce blow to Hawthorne's face, Will's sword was loose.

Surprise filled Hawthorne's features for an instant before his lips curled in response to his own hot temper. He leaned over and spat out the blood that had filled mouth. "A tender point, hmm?"

"You are a monster." Will snarled, lunging towards the captain in one of the hardest attacks he'd ever mustered.

"Your wife said the very same thing. Before she found out what you are. What you've done." Hawthorne's face showed no strain but his breathing had become harsh and his hand trembled.

"What I have done?!" Will struck hard on the left and followed with a swift uppercut. No matter how furious he was, no matter how impassioned he was, his physical limitations were prevalent. Slowly, they began to conquer the fire that filled his veins. His chest was aching horribly and breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. "You were the one to tear me from my family, my home, everything I know."

"And I enjoyed every moment of it." Hawthorne threw a cruel blow to Will's stomach while their blades were crossed. The power behind it folded the blacksmith in half.

"Just as I'm enjoying this." Hawthorne's fist drove Will to his knees and a boot to the face sent him crashing to his back. Panting heavily, the captain stepped forward, brandishing his sword, washed clean in the rain.

Will's world was consumed with flames. Pain licked at his wounds like an overeager wolf. All he could see was gray. Roaring had filled his ears. Fumbling, he tried to stand and felt another blow drive him back to the wooden flooring. There was a sharp clang in the midst of the chaos and Will knew immediately that the sword had been knocked from his hand.

Prying his eyes open, he tried to make anything out in the confusion. In a whirl, the world slid back into focus. Hawthorne had seized his hair and was pulling him up, drawing back his sword for the killing blow.

"I wonder, Turner, will she weep when you're gone?" The voice slithered in his ear and Will matched the voice to Hawthorne's moving lips.

He vaguely realized that the sword was moving, moving towards him. He looked down and saw his own sword a few inches away from his limp fingers. He looked at Hawthorne, reading the triumph and loathing in his features. He looked at the crew, watching with mixed emotions. He looked at the three young girls who'd sheltered him. He looked at Jack and saw pity and deep sadness. He looked at Elizabeth, tears streaming down her face. He looked at her white knuckled hands that gripped the swell of her pregnant belly.

And suddenly, the world changed. Hawthorne's breath caught, his body stiffening, and he staggered back, his sword clattering to the deck. "What…" Blood spilled over his hands and stomach where a long sword was impaled, the hilt still in Will's hand.

Painfully, Will staggered to his feet, tightening his grip on the blade. "You hurt my family. That was your first and last mistake." He gave the weapon a vicious yank and Hawthorne collapsed. He blinked once and then his dark hateful eyes closed.

Will turned back to face the gaping crew, bloody sword in hand. In that moment he appeared almost otherworldly. The lightning behind his broad shoulders illuminated his chiseled features and his determined eyes. He was a tool of justice, a beacon of hope.

The crew shrank back, afraid if they twitched he'd consume them all in a vengeful torrent. But he didn't move.

His eyes sought out Elizabeth and when they found her they softened, a smile lighting the dark depths. "Elizabeth…" his voice was a whisper. He took one step before his legs gave out, his strength finally consumed, and he crumpled to the deck.

All the while lightning crackled, thunder roared, and the rain poured down in sheets, as if the heavens themselves knew of Will Turner's fate.

**TBC...**


	29. Hope Dawns

I apolgize for the lateness of this chapter. I couldn't get to my internet connection. Be warned. When your carpet cleaner tells you it'll take one day for the carpets to dry, it'll be more like three. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

Thank you to Smithy, Telcontar Rulz, master of time, and Wills_Elizabeth23 for your sweet notes!! :) I really appreciate your understanding!

And now, the "super-long" chapter you've been waiting so patiently for...

**Chapter 29: Hope Dawns**

Silence reigned over the ship with chilling dominance. The spell was tightly woven across the decks, freezing soldiers and pirates alike. The dull static of the storm faded in shock.

Elizabeth was the one to finally shatter the stillness with a wordless cry of horror. Cold fingers fumbled to catch her shoulders but she barreled past them, collapsing in a shivering heap at Will's side.

A pair of red-coated guards stumbled after her, boots sliding in the rain. They didn't get much farther than a few feet before the ship rounded a large crevice. The rain and mist clouded most of the sea but dark sails created a black void several hundred yards away.

Jack's sharp eyes immediately recognized the three-mast sails and the sleek hull. A rescue was on its way then…perhaps he could aid them as the great Captain Jack Sparrow was never actually in need of a rescue.

Fortunately, none of the soldiers noticed as they were rather preoccupied preparing the Waking Power to make way in the storm. And that was a weakness he would exploit with utmost pleasure.

A quick scan of the deck revealed his inventory of possible escape plans. However, he stopped rather abruptly at mid-deck because for the second time that day Jack saw something odd.

A stout barrel resting near the main mast, of rather non-descript wood and plain metal bands holding the barrel together, had a swath of dark fabric peaking out from the lid.

And again, he wondered if it was some sort of bizarre tradition.

But when the fabric twitched as if someone was tugging on it, the blossoming of a plan grew in his mind.

"Oi! You two!" Jack hollered at the two head officers, wriggling his elbows in his guard's grasp and burrowing his way past the French girls.

"What?" A soldier snapped.

Jack drew back an inch at the ferocity. Bloody redcoats. Always so uptight. A bit more rum in their diet might improve manners and attitudes. But whatever the case, he had a plan to carry out. "The barrels are twitching."

Another eloquent, "What?"

He merely pointed.

Their eyes went round. "Marines!" The one with the taller hat called and a moment later a ring of redcoats had appeared from various stations across the deck. "Inspect those barrels there."

"Aye, aye, sir." The redcoats readied their muskets and went in with their sharp bayonets lifted. A quick jab later, and the cloth stopped twitching.

One marine opened a barrel on the edge. His stubbly face instantly turned a most interesting shade of green. He turned away to lean over the rail and his companion faced the officer.

"Pirates, sir. They must have stowed away."

"Indeed." The officer's own face was pasty. "Search the ship. Kill any that you find."

"Well, that's not very nice." Jack commented dryly.

The officer's narrowed blue eyes turned on him. "You are not in a position to comment, I should think."

"Why not? I'm the captain of a ship. You haven't captained anything but a toy boat when you were a lad."

The officer's spine snapped straight. "I have been with His Majesty's Navy for ten years. I know how to sail a ship."

"A dingy maybe. But a frigate like this one?" Jack cocked his head to the side.

The pirate watched in amusement as the redcoat's lips formed two thin lines. "You, sir, will wait out the remainder of the voyage in the brig."

"Ah! Callin' me 'sir' already. You catch on faster than the average whelp!" Jack grinned. Redcoats did not like it when he grinned. That he didn't understand. The same grin made the barmaids in Tortuga give him an extra pint of rum.

"Take him away." The officer ordered tersely.

His two guards pulled at his arms and as they did so he neatly placed one of his sea-boots in one guard's way. As quick as a flash of lighting, the soldier went down hard.

"Come on Jeffers. Get your feet underneath ya. We've still got the wenches to get down in the brig." The other soldier complained.

Jeffers scowled up at Jack. "He tripped me, the maggot!" In his anger, he caught the edge of the previously twitching barrel and as he pushed his weight up, the barrel tipped.

The body tumbled out on the deck, bloody and still.

"Aww, Jeffers! Can't you get your oaf self up without ruining everything? Now we'll have to clean up the mess."

"It's not my fault, Archie. It's the maggot!" Jeffers defended himself hotly.

Jack merely watched as the two soldiers continued their argument, content to pilfer Archie's knife. However, a harsh cry into the night sent a shiver of concern through his mind.

"Ship ho! Port side!"

A nameless soldier cried out orders. However, the words were carried away on a torrent of thunder. All of the prisoners were both forgotten as panic shot through the veins of the soldiers lining the decks.

Yet Jack, Jack felt a coy smile glide over his mouth, finally free to greet her properly. "Hullo, love…" his words were silky and soft, the tone of a man who had found a beloved friend.

And like a predator, she drew close, massive sails looming over the Waking Power and cannons bellowing a returned greeting. Men crowed at her foredecks, preparing weapons for the ensuing conflict.

The air whistled as wet ropes flew forward and dug deeply into the wooden sides to lash the two vessels together in a deadly embrace. Sea water sprayed up the hull, shooting over the decks and showering the soldiers scrambling to find means of defense.

A great groan shook the ships from top to bottom as they finally crashed together and then a shudder as they settled into a current.

Jack's eyes drank in the sight of his beautiful ship and her crew only yards away. But all warmth in his veins vanished at the image of Isaly standing at the helm of his precious Pearl.

Her face was hard with determination, fingers clenched about the railing, shoulders hunched, and eyes domineering as they gazed on the overturned barrel and the corpse spilled over the deck.

Jack didn't like that look at all. It was the sort of look one gave a maggot before one squished it, avenging the spoiling of perfectly acceptable food. And such a look was not to be directed at him, or rather the ship he stood on.

Therefore, he shoved his way past them all and careened out into the middle of the deck, waving his hands about—which was quite difficult as his hands were still firmly bound together. "No, no! That's my ship!"

Isaly's lips quirked into a wicked charade of a grin.

Oh…a different negotiating tactic then. Jack cleared his throat and held up a finger. "How 'bout a trade? This ship for the Pearl."

"Take her!"

"I'll take that as a consideration." Jack slithered back as Archie and Jeffers advanced on him. The duo turned into a more immediate threat, brandishing their muskets in an attempt to halt his movement.

"Mates, le's think about this logically. What's a little pirate compared to a ship prepared to blow the bajeezes out of you?"

Unfortunately, the two soldiers blatantly ignored him and, in a decisive move, caught his shoulders. They yanked him towards the hold without the slightest hesitation and Jack thought idly that perhaps he might rethink a bit of his plan.

Their movement was halted rather abruptly as they approached the stairwell a redcoat slumped to the deck, bleeding from a long slit across his throat. Behind him, a brutish pirate grinned, his blade still wet from the fresh kill.

"The alarm!" Archie hollered.

Jeffers loosed his grasp on Jack to fire a shot at the pirate but it did him little good as the stairs soon swarmed with Jones' men who pushed up and out onto the deck, furious and baying for victory.

The Waking Power erupted into chaos as pirates, armed with cutlasses and long daggers, swarmed across the railings from the Pearl and swept onto the Waking Power's slick decks to aid their trapped mates.

Jack slid away, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the soldiers trying desperately to hold back the multi-colored tide. Pulling free the knife he'd 'borrowed' from Archie, he cut the ropes around his wrists, with no small amount of effort, and sauntered towards the other end of the deck.

A quick glance back showed no pursuit, only the redcoats, holding their own rather impressively, battling the pirates. He turned back to continue his plan when suddenly a pirate swung out in front of him.

"'ello, Sparra! Jonesie will be glad to see you!"

"Terribly sorry to disappoint but I've got-"

"I wasn't askin'." The pirate snarled, pulling free a cutlass.

Jack watched as the giant pirate toppled to the deck, shards of glass scattered around his head. "I wasn't either," he commented dryly and then he turned to the helpful glass 'shatterer'.

It was the French girl. Eliase, Elina, Elisan. She smiled and nodded like she'd done him some favor. Obviously, she needed to witness his daring feats.

And then he thought of something. "Where's the whelp?"

* * *

Elizabeth's heart could have been a kettle drum for the way it raced within her chest. Her fingers had long ago gone numb from the cold as they brushed Will's face in attempt to wake him.

He had gone slack, and his skin was cold and gray. If not for the slight flutter of a heartbeat she would have thought him gone already.

In the chaos of the attack her two guards had been called away, leaving her alone. She had managed to push Will to a corner of the ship and had found a discharged musket on the way. Now she huddled at the rail with her unconscious husband, exhausted and miserable. Hoping to get his wounds to cease bleeding, she was trying to tear the jacket from an unmoving marine on deck when a hand fell heavily on her shoulder.

Catching up the empty musket, she whirled and, instead of a stern marine's face, saw Jack staring back at her. "Jack!"

"Aye, love." He pressed get a knife handle into her hand. "Get in the dingy." And then he was gone, disappeared back into the crowds.

Her eyes tried to relocate him only for a moment before she used the knife to cut the horrid ropes from her wrists. The cords fell away to the deck and she glanced about for the dingy Jack had spoken about.

About fifteen yards away, tightly lashed down with canvas and thick sea rope, was a dingy large enough for twenty men. Getting it free and into the sea without being detected wouldn't be an easy task, although it was partially hidden by crates and barrels. However, she didn't see any other options to get Will to safety and a doctor.

Threading her arm under his shoulders, Elizabeth tried to pull Will to a sitting position but with her wide girth she could barely stand herself. Breathing heavily and praying that they would remain undetected, she caught the wide cuffs of his overcoat and tugged.

Miraculously, he moved an inch, and then another.

Yet with each passing moment she grew more and more strained. This couldn't continue. She simply did not have the strength to carry him to the dingy. But deep in her heart she knew she couldn't merely give up. Feeling the burning edge of tears growing, she gave a heave and he moved a touch farther.

A flash of skirts caught her attention and, in that moment, her hope returned. "Elaine, Celia, Mariel!" she cried as loudly as she dared.

Their faces searched the swarming deck from the safety of a collapsed sail and, when they saw her, the same hope she felt burning in her heart lit up their eyes. They were by her side moments later, slinking along the edge of the deck so as to avoid the battle around the hold.

"The dinghy. We have to get to the dinghy." Elizabeth's words were punctuated with gasping breaths.

They nodded and wordlessly gathered around Will. Together they pulled and tugged Will the last few yards. The canvas was torn off and Will was dumped inside. They were adjusting the ropes to lower the boat over the side when finally the cry went out.

Pirates and redcoats both rushed to halt their progress. Elizabeth lifted the musket and swung it round to connect with an earsplitting crack to a pirate's face. Wielding the heavy weapon like a broadsword she smacked the second man in the gut, the breath in his lungs disappearing in a whoosh. The Woods girls, too, were not defenseless, and put themselves to good use whacking their adversaries with the oars.

However, four women against a larger group of better equipped men are poor odds. Elizabeth knew that their time was limited.

"Oi! Pucker-faces!"

All turned to see Jack standing on the foredeck.

"You will all remember this…"

Elizabeth's mind was racing. Jack didn't say that unless he was leaving…Moving faster than she ever had in her life, she caught the ropes, heaved hard and watched as the dinghy swung out over the rail's side, suspended solely but a series of pulleys and ropes tied off on the deck.

"…as the day that you almost…" Jack hollered, slowly walking towards the rail as the pirates and redcoats simultaneously slunk towards him, Jones in front.

Elizabeth gave the three Woods girls a push towards the boat and they complied with her silent gestures. She had just set foot on the dinghy's wooden floor when the pirates realized what Jack was trying to accomplish.

"…killed Captain Jack Sparrow!"

"Get them!"

Elizabeth threw herself in the boat and suddenly they were pitching down, the ropes limp and useless. They landed in the ocean with a hard jolt and sea water sprayed about them as the vessel bucked on the waves.

The next moments were filled with harsh breathing, the crack of musket fire that peppered the water around them, and the roar of the storm. As they were shoved farther and farther away from the Waking Power with the tide the musket fire ceased and within moments only the large white sails could been seen through the rain and fog.

* * *

"…killed Captain Jack Sparrow!" Jack finished his farewell, caught a rope he'd located especially for this purpose, and leapt off the side just as Jones got within striking distance.

The angered bellow of a thwarted man followed him as he whipped through the cold, wet air. He landed heavily, nearly losing his footing on the slick decks. But with a slight adjustment to his battered tri-corn, he clomped up towards the helm, pausing only to dislodge a thick wooden pin from the sail anchors.

Isaly was leaning against the rail with white-knuckled hands, but when his boots thumped onto the deck she whirled, her soaked blond hair snapping about her face.

"Sparrow! You ruined everything!" She yanked a pistol from her waistband and pointed it directly at his nose.

"That, love, depends on the definition of ruin."

Her lips thinned in anger and her finger pressed down the trigger. The gun's flint snapped forward with a wet 'thunk'.

"You, unlike your English counterparts, didn't keep your power dry." Jack informed her saucily.

She snarled and threw the useless weapon down, pulling free instead a long knife.

He anticipated the move and caught her wrist. "I believe this is my ship." He brought up the wooden pin, thumped her hard in the side, and watched as she flew over the rail, tumbling into the ocean below.

At last, he faced his Pearl. And a very relieved Gibbs, with the crew huddled behind him.

"Cap'n."

Smirking, he gazed out at the tumultuous sea beyond the Waking Power and Alabanza Vacia. "Hoist the sails, Mr. Gibbs. We've got us a whelp and his bonnie lass to find."

**TBC...**


	30. All That Matters

Many thanks to reviewers: Arquenniel, Calenlass Greenleaf1, willabeth0906, Wills_Elizabeth23, shewhoshallwrite, AKA Parfait, Smith, master of time and lynxlan!! You make my week with your wonderful reviews!!

Anonymous Reviewer Responses:

master of time: Thanks so much for your review! :) Oddly, enough I don't really want it to end either but as the plot has other ideas we'll be nearing the finish line very soon.

Smithy: Thanks so much for your review! And thank you for your understanding! :D

AKA Parfait: Thanks very much for your review! I had a great time writing it (when I wasn't going cross-eyed, that is)! :)

Wills_Elizabeth23: Thanks very much for your review! I was so sorry to keep you waiting so long! This chapter is almost solely Will and Elizabeth so I hope you'll enjoy! :)

I do apologize for the shortness of this chapter but I really wanted to get this chapter up so you didn't have to wait another week.

We're nearing the end, everybody, and I hope you'll stick with me. :)

**Chapter 30: All That Matters**

Gibbs had seen many strange things in his lifetime. After all, he'd been on the sea almost his entire life. A sailor views all manner of wild sea life when water was short and the sun was high.

In fact, he'd swear on a case of rum that he'd even seen a mermaid once. She'd been a lovely thing, too, with a glimmering green-blue tail and long curling black hair.

But what he saw now, while no where near as enchanting, was probably the oddest. Three obviously French girls were huddled in the back of a dingy across from Bootstrap's boy, who looked like he'd been keelhauled, and Miss Elizabeth.

They were partially hidden by the storm and it was a wonder that Cotton's parrot even spotted them. Jack, acting more strange than usual, had sauntered off towards his cabin muttering about "that bloody, stupid whelp". He reappeared moments later and began hollering orders for the dingy to be brought in.

Gibbs waited only a moment before he began echoing his captain's orders.

And another miracle manifested itself when the Pearl's crew managed to get the dingy on board without spilling its occupants all over the deck. Ragetti and Pintel didn't even argue about the enthusiasm or rather lack of it when working at the pulleys.

Jack remained silently watching as the three French girls' feet connected with the deck. He only moved when Elizabeth finally began to pull at Will's sleeves in an effort to get him on the Pearl.

"Come on, love."

Gibbs watched, slack-jawed, as Jack Sparrow helped Miss Elizabeth lug Will into the Captain's cabin and shut the door. When he finally managed to clear the surprise from his wits he turned to the crew, who stared in much the same shock as he felt moments ago.

Well, a swift verbal kick would get them moving. "What're you staring at, ya lazy yobs?! Get your feet moving! Prepare to make way unless you want Jones on our tail!"

* * *

Had Elizabeth been paying more attention to her surrounding, she would have noted that the candles had been lit, the ratty bedcovers had been turned down, and a fresh bottle of rum had been uncapped on the bed stand.

But with her limp husband half-cradled in her arms, she had much more pressing issues at hand. Wordlessly, Jack nudged her towards the sole bed in the great cabin, and, wordlessly still, she thanked him with a gentle nod of her head.

Will was settled on the sheets and blankets, unresponsive even when Elizabeth and Jack peeled away his overcoat and shirt. His face was deathly white, and his breathing was shallow.

"Jack…" Elizabeth took in the sight of wounds, some fresh and some reopened, as they bled and felt her heart tighten in pain. How would he survive?

He gave her a sad smile and looked down at the young man on the bed. "It'll be alright, Lizzie. A bit of sleep and rum'll do wonders."

And Elizabeth found herself trusting that Jack would keep his word.

* * *

Light.

It was the first thing Will was aware of. Gentle, warm, glowing light. The second was the gentle rocking beneath him. The third was the potent smell of medicines. The fourth was the feeling of linen secured around his chest. The fifth was an ache that consumed his entire body.

Slowly, he pried himself out of mere awareness and opened his eyes. Shapes blurred and it was several minutes before Will could make out anything.

He was lying in a bed with two surprisingly thick blankets spread over him. Next to him sat a tray filled with all sorts of potions. The light came from the windows at the stern of the room and just beyond the brilliant light he saw the soft cadence of the ocean. He was on a ship then.

It wasn't until he saw the piles of maps and the queer collection of objects strewn about the room that he finally realized just whose ship he was on. Only the Black Pearl would have such a cluttered captain's cabin.

There was a quiet click from the doorway and Will found it difficult to turn himself to see who had entered. When he'd finally maneuvered around it didn't matter as the person was rushing towards him.

"Will!" There it was. That voice that never failed to make his heart skip a beat.

Her arms were around him in a moment, her lips pressed against his. He'd forgotten how strongly she smelled of roses and the way her silky hair brushed his face.

"Elizabeth…" it came out as a sigh.

"I thought…when you didn't wake-" tears choked off her words. "I thought you might leave us."

Will's eyes widened. "The baby?"

She pulled his hand down and rested it on her swollen belly. "Waiting for the perfect moment to appear."

Will's large brown hands covered most of the swell and as she pressed them to her, the baby within shifted and turned as if he recognized the touch of his father. Her eyes shone. "He knows you."

"Elizabeth,"

"Shh," Her finger stilled his words. A weak smile dawned on her lips. "Please…"

Will sank back against the cushions gingerly, the bolts of pain shooting up and down his back reminding him to use caution.

Elizabeth's eyes were wells of unshed tears. The droplets trembled on the long lashes, glittering like bright diamonds. It wasn't until a gasping breath and the successive shudder that Will realized that she was weeping.

"Elizabeth, I'm here. I won't leave you." Will tried to take her hand but she covered her face with them. He grew truly concerned then. "Elizabeth…"

"No, no, it's not" her voice was contorted in anguish, punctuated by hiccupping breaths, "that." She ran her fingers along one of the many white bandages about his chest, trying to find composure.

Will waited, knowing she was collecting her words but hating to see her in such pain.

She took a deep breath. "If I had only listened to you, if I only trusted you, this never would have happened."

And suddenly, he understood. Cotton's death.

"They hurt you…and it was my fault." Fresh tears overcame her voice and when she spoke again the words were rushed. "I'm so sorry, for everything, Will."

"Elizabeth," His fingers stroked the smooth skin along her jaw. Hot tears soon spilled over the calluses on his hands as she wept. Brushing back damp tendrils of hair from her flushed face, Will met her damp gaze steadily. "Elizabeth, none of what happened was your fault."

"But-"

His warm finger cut off the remainder of the words and merely collected her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her trembling shoulders. Leaning in close he whispered, "I've loved you since I first laid eyes on you, and not once has that feeling wavered."

She huddled against him, tears streaming down her cheeks but said no more. So, he held her close, unknowingly holding her ear against his heartbeat, and waited. Slowly, the sniffles and shuddering breaths eased.

"Will?"

For a moment, he thought he was hearing the voice of the twelve-year-old Elizabeth, the one that had grown terrified at storm and had appeared by his hammock in the middle of the night. He remembered clearly the way her voice had quavered as she explained what had frightened her before her father had entered and hustled her away, a stern lecture about propriety ringing in their ears.

But he also remembered the way her hand had felt in his and the same rush to protect her, to hold her, to keep her safe, burning in his heart.

She looked up at him, a thousand questions brimming in her face. "Do you…do you think we could go home?"

And he found that the answer was difficult to formulate. The truth was, he didn't know. Technically, his service with His Majesty was not finished, however unlawful its beginning had been. What if he returned to his home, his smithy, only to be pulled away and punished for desertion?

But where else could he go? What else could he do?

He could stay on the Pearl. But what kind of life would that be for Elizabeth and the baby. No matter how talented Jack Sparrow was at getting out of scrapes, he tended to get out of those scraps with more than a few scars to remember them by.

A child would not be so easily patched together.

Nor would he let Elizabeth give up any hope of ever seeing her father again. Despite their disagreements, Elizabeth and her father had a close relationship and to pull her apart from that merely to ensure that he faced no punishment was not a choice he would accept.

Perhaps Norrington would understand. Perhaps nothing would happen at all. He was just overreacting. No one really even knew why he had left.

Firming his resolve, Will chose a course of action. He met Elizabeth's questioning gaze, smiled, and said, "Yes."

Elizabeth and the baby would remain safe. That was all that mattered.

**TBC...**


	31. Endpoint

Thanks very much to reviewers Calenlass Greenleaf1, AKA Parfait, willabeth0906, Traveler of Worlds, shewhoshallwrite, Telcontar Rulz, sweetmissbean, Wills_Elizabeth23, and lynxlan!!

Anonymous Reviewer Replies:

AKA Parfait: :) I was so pleased when you updated. I'm so glad you liked the chapter. Thanks very much for the review!

sweetmissbean: Thanks very much for the review! I'm so glad you liked it! :) You're the one that inspired the opening of this chapter.

Wills_Elizabeth23: It's perfectly alright. I'm so glad you liked the chapter! I thought of you when I wrote it. :) Will Turner is such a wonderful character and I've loved writing him. Thanks very much for the review!

**A/N:** Thank you so much to everyone who has been with me throughout this entire story, even if it's only for the read. :) I've loved having you! We have this chapter, and then the epilogue. (if you want, there's a little deleted scene I could upload, too) As for updating next week, I'll still be uploading as I've finished the epilogue. Thanks, again!

**Chapter 31: Endpoint**

Elizabeth didn't remember being this comfortable in ages.

The only thing that might make life better at this instant was having Will healed. In considerations of his aching muscles and healing abrasions, she had curled up next to him on the cot.

Her fingers toyed with the edge of his loose shirt but other than that she made no move to hold him closer for fear that she might damage the healing process. However, position as she was she could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat.

He had, miraculously, stayed relatively at rest for the past week. Today alone, he had already slept most of the morning and managed to eat an entire bowl of the watery concoction that Gibbs had the audacity to call soup—she asked him where the vegetables were and he'd merely laughed.

And now, they sat together in the late afternoon sun, staring through the smudged aft windows. Elizabeth had tried in an impulsive moment to clean off the perpetual dirt. It was no good. But it was a way to use some of her excessive worries.

As the days passed she grew more concerned. Will was as cheery as ever. But she knew something was wrong. He was thinking too often, staring out into the distance with a look that heralded trouble.

She'd thought long and hard herself, trying to decipher what was going on in that dark curly head of his, trying to read the brooding chocolate eyes.

But she couldn't think what the nettle in his thoughts could be.

The door clicked open and head wreathed in a bright crimson handkerchief popped around the corner before a lanky body followed, swaying back and forth.

Jack plunked down in a straight back chair across from the dented table in the center of the room. He rummaged about for a moment and yanked a smoky, golden-brown bottle from beneath a stack of filthy blankets.

"The whelp's sleepin' again?"

Elizabeth smiled, keeping her eyes on her husband.

"Tha's all the buggery whelp does…sleep." Jack took a long draught from the rum bottle.

There was a snort of laughter. "And you drink." Will's voice was slurred from sleep and his eyes were blurry but he grinned.

Jack merely took another long drink from the rum bottle. "See what you really need is more rum. Rum'll fix anythin'."

Keeping his eyes partially closed, Will laughed, a truly mirthful sound that sent a blossom of warmth through Elizabeth's heart. How long it had been since she'd heard him laugh, or seen him smile.

"So it's to Port Royal for the happy couple?"

Elizabeth's spine stiffened. Port Royal…home…A thousand other thoughts flooded her mind. But Norrington and this whole mess with His Majesty's Service. They wouldn't take Will, would they?

Anger welled in her stomach and she felt a hot indignation build to her throat. "Will?"

His dark eyes met hers and she thought she was standing on the edge of a courtyard with the steady crisp beat of a drum and the murmur of a crowd thrumming in her ears. She could almost feel the hard wood of her fan in her hand as she clutched it in a death grip.

"Elizabeth…"

The illusion snapped as she pulled away. "No." She told him firmly.

He tried to catch her hand. "Elizabeth."

"Will, you can't." she pled, fingers brushing her wide belly.

He looked so weary. Lines etched his face in a macabre reminder of how much he had weighing on him. "I have to, Elizabeth."

"But Will…"

Jack cleared his throat, jamming the cork back in the opening of the rum bottle and shoving his feet back underneath himself. "It's been lovely chattin' but I've got me a ship to sail." And sauntering out, he left Will and Elizabeth to themselves.

Will pushed himself up off the cot, eyes beseeching her to understand. "It's the only way."

Deep in her heart, she knew he was right. The baby needed a safe home. "And the Woods girls?"

"We'll get them a fare on a merchant ship headed back to the Americas."

She nodded, feeling like her world teetering on the edge of disaster.

"Elizabeth," his warm fingers threaded through hers. "Everything will be fine."

* * *

Port Royal was exactly as they remembered it. Crowded, noisy, and filled with less than savory smells. But it was home. And home was one place that Will and Elizabeth were more than ready to be.

They'd been placed in a rowboat and sent out a few hours outside Port Royal as Jack didn't want to encounter the 'good commodore'. Now, the coast was just ahead and they would be in their own house shortly.

They received a good share of strange looks but no one commented. A few smiled and tipped their hats. A few more shot them dark glares. Elizabeth didn't care a twit. She had far more serious issues devouring her emotions.

There was the loud scraping of wood against wood as the rowboat connected with the dock. They slowly pulled themselves from the craft, Elizabeth hindered by her heavy waist and Will by his still healing wounds. However, they did manage tying off the boat and moving into town.

Elizabeth couldn't help staring down anything that twitched. Her hands were damp and her heart beat at twice the normal rate. She was trembling when they rounded the corner and caught their first glimpse of the simple house they called home.

Her world turned to ashes in one instant. A contingent of red coated soldiers appeared from a cross street, Norrington in lead.

Will didn't try to evade them. He merely stood, a weary expression on his face. Elizabeth tensed, holding tightly to his hand. They couldn't take him from her now. Not after all they'd survived.

Norrington's face purely business as he came to a short stop directly in front of the young couple. "Mr. Turner."

"Commodore."

"I am here to inform you of a career change."

Elizabeth tried to step in front of Will, primed to let loose all she had against this 'friend' that dare separate them. But Will, calm as ever, gently kept her back, one hand still holding hers and the other wrapped protectively around her belly.

Norrington either didn't see her move or chose to ignore it. "This letter should explain everything." He seemed slightly uncomfortable handing the blacksmith a folded letter with an ornate seal.

Though Elizabeth ached to see what was on the page Will stood unknowingly at an angle so that she wasn't able to view any of the words. Tense moments passed and Elizabeth felt each one keenly.

Finally, Will looked up at Norrington, pure shock on his face. "What?"

"The grounds on which you were employed by His Majesty's Navy are considered null and void."

"But-"

"Mr. Turner, you were brought to the Waking Power, unconscious and reeking of rum. I have gathered several witnesses and they attest to seeing Hawthorne counterfeit your inebriation. If you had agreed to service, even while drunk, it would have been held against you. But as I have gleaned, your consumption of alcohol was entirely fabricated by Hawthorne to cover up your kidnapping. Therefore, your time on said vessel was not lawful and as such will be considered your service for His Majesty for the remainder of your days. As stated in the letter you will also be reimbursed for the time lost with the sum mentioned in paragraph three."

Will looked as though he'd lost his voice.

Norrington offered the couple a smile and a stiff bow. "Good day, Mr. Turner, Mrs. Turner."

"Good day, Commodore." Elizabeth answered for Will as he was still staring at the page in wonder.

The soldiers marched off with crisp steps, their boots echoing along the narrow road. Elizabeth kept her gaze on them until they turned the corner, the last crimson uniform disappearing behind a hedge of thick foliage.

A heavy sigh fell from her lips, and a weight lifted from her shoulders.

They were free, at last. No more exploding ships, no more near death experiences, no more pain at separation, no more fearing that someone might swoop in and steal her husband away.

Understanding her visible relief, Will caught her hand, smiled reassuringly, and together they walked towards home.

**TBC...**


	32. Epilogue

Merry Christmas!! (one day late)

Many, many thanks to reviewers Wills_Elizabeth23, Calenlass Greenleaf1, shewhoshallwrite, AKA Parfait, Pirate RN, Telcontar Rulz, sweetmissbean, Traveler of Worlds, and lynxlan! Thank you, thank you!

And for all of you that have been with me since the beginning, thank you so much! I can't put into words how much I appreciate it!

Another massive thank you to Arquenniel and Caomhe of Tyrone! Without you two, this story would never have made it to completion!

Anonymous Reviewer Replies:

AKA Parfait: Thanks very much for the review! I like both as well. :)

Wills_Elizabeth23: Thanks very much for the review! Your guesses, as you will see, are very accurate. :) Merry Christmas to you, too! And I'm hoping to upload the deleted scene next week.

**Chapter 32: Epilogue**

Will hadn't been so utterly consumed with worries in a long time. His hands were shaky and his tongue might as well have been a chunk of sawdust. Holding still was harder than fighting a horde of undead pirates with one hand behind his back. His lungs felt like someone was jumping on them, making his breathing and heartbeat irregular.

"Why is it taking so long?" Will muttered before whirling on the Governor, biting back a grimace at the shot of pain in his still healing back. "Does it usually take this long?"

"William, my dear boy, it's hardly been four hours. The birth of a child is a lengthy process and cannot be rushed."

Will, however, had stopped listening to the Governor at 'my dear boy'. "Why is it so quiet in there?" Will's eyes were narrowed at the door that stood between him and Elizabeth. "Is it supposed to be that quiet?"

"I'm sure the midwives are doing their best to help Elizabeth."

Will nodded absently and forced himself to sit down. A beat later and he was standing again. He'd faced skeletal pirates, exploding ships, sadistic captains, and countless other dangers only to pace like a hungry lion before the room that held his wife and future child.

She'd gone into labor only five days after they'd left the Pearl. They'd been finishing up their noon meal. She was smiling as she lifted the last dish off the table. Then there had been a crash and Will was suddenly being told to fetch the doctor, which he'd done as swiftly as humanly possible. The last glimpse he'd seen of her was her face contorted in pain, sweat beading on her forehead and hands fisted in the cloth of the bed sheets.

"Are you sure she'll be fine? Perhaps I should be in there with her…" Will paused his pacing for a tense minute then resuming it with more energy and vigor than ever.

The bedroom door clicked open and Will was standing directly in front of it in the space of a second.

"Is everything well? Is Elizabeth well?"

The poor midwife nodded with a weary smile. "You may go in now." She blinked and Will was inside the room, leaning over his exhausted wife.

His hands smoothed away her damp hair. "Elizabeth," Will's voice couldn't have sounded more relieved.

Her face was pale and there were great circles underneath her eyes but to him she had never looked more gorgeous. Smiling gently, her amber eyes shone up at him, "Will."

"I'm so proud of you."

She nodded her response.

"Mr. Turner?" The midwife was approaching with a white bundle in her arms. "I think you have someone to meet." She settled the cocoon of soft blankets in Elizabeth's arms and quietly left the room.

Elizabeth tenderly brushed back the blankets from the tiny, new face. "Meet your son, Will."

The baby blinked slowly at his mother's voice and Will received his first glimpse of the clear eyes beneath the dark eyelashes. They were perfectly blue, as blue as the Caribbean sea on a warm August morning.

"He's beautiful." Will whispered, his own eyes wide with awe as he offered the child his finger.

The little hand latched onto his father's proffered finger.

"He looks like you already." Elizabeth's slender fingers slid through the infant's downy head of dark, curly hair.

"He's got your nose."

"And your hair and eyes."

"But-"

"They'll turn brown. I know they will." Elizabeth smiled up at him radiantly.

Will glowed down at his little family and warmth filled his being. He was complete. This was home. Here, with his lovely, vivacious Elizabeth and an incredible new son. This was where he belonged.

**The End**

I'll try to get the deleted scene up next week. :)


	33. Deleted Scene: Reunion

Here it is folks, the deleted scene!

In the original storyline, I needed something to detain Elizabeth for a bit while I developed the other characters on Will's side of things. It ended up being harder than I thought and this was the first idea. I ended up cutting it out because I thought it rode a little too closely to At World's End, althought I did also intend for it to be a tiny tribute of sorts to the films. Anyway, enjoy!

**Deleted Scene: Reunion with the Chinese Brethren**

Elizabeth waited restlessly at the port side of the Pearl, her slender fingers trailing patterns in the dark wood's grain. Her impatience had multiplied ten-fold and every delay chaffed her horribly.

A gust of wind slid around her waist and tugged at her hair, taunting her with its speed. Riled, she pulled at a line, hoping to coax even a smidgeon more momentum from the sleek vessel.

"Ship! Starboard side!" Marty's pinched voice broke through the air.

Elizabeth's head darted up and she quickly joined the group of crewmembers staring at the oncoming craft. Her large belly made it difficult to lean over the wide rail but it was done anyway.

"She looks a bit Eastern." Gibb's veteran eyes roved over the dot on the landscape. "And listing on both sides…"

"Mr. Gibbs, there is a disturbing, reprehensible and deplorable lack of vocational exertion on my ship! Why, why is that?" Jack hollered, causing the crew to jump at the sharp edge in the voice.

"We've spotted a ship, Cap'n. Off the starboard side."

Jack peered past his motley crew to view the brown spot against the cerulean horizon. Seconds later he pulled back and looked to the older man. "Of course, there is. Didn' you know that?"

"I did Cap'n , I was just-"

"You were what, man! Spit it out! I 'ave no time for lollygagging lummoxes."

"She's of oriental make, sir." Gibbs blurted and watched as his captain's face twitched.

Jack's lips pursed and one word, hardly spoken, fell free. "Bugger."

"Jack, what is the matter?" Elizabeth inquired, utterly confused by the tension that now filled the strange man's body.

He ignored her. "Movement! I want movement! All sails released! I want every wisp, breath, measly scrap of wind behind my sails, now! Come on! Move, you lily-livered, pox-faced, bilge rats!"

"Jack!" Elizabeth burrowed her way past fleeing sailors to trot alongside him. "What on earth are you doing? It's just one ship!"

Jack didn't answer. He was too busy shouting. "Higher, you vertically challenged, recalcitrant imbecile! More wind! I must have movement!"

"Jack! Tell me what is happening!"

"What!"

"What is happening?"

He hesitated. "Nothin' is happening."

"Jack…" Elizabeth fixed a glowering stare on the Captain. "Who sails that ship?"

He offered, with an uneasy smile, after lengthy thought, "An old friend."

"Cap'n! With the wind as it is, we'll never outrun her!" Gibb's grizzly face looked strained.

"But I thought the Pearl was the fastest ship in the Caribbean!"

"'ave you noticed something, missy, we are no longer in your beloved waters." Jack's smile soured and he strode to the helm, taking the wheel from Cotton.

She followed at his heels, resolved to unravel the newest enigma. "You mean, she's faster than the Pearl?"

Gibbs answered for her. "Well, in different winds, the Pearl would have the advantage but Calypso has been a might moody these last few days-"

"She's catching up." Jack was oddly serious.

An inexplicable rage filled Elizabeth down to the very marrow of her bones. "You mean to tell me that there is another delay?!"

"I'd be more worried that this delay might be permanent rather than how quickly you'll make it back to your dearest love."

Gibbs watched for a moment, trying to discern what his captain was planning. "Cap'n?"

A sly grin eased across Jack's face and the first mate blanched, years of working together giving him a clue as to what was about to conspire. "Jack! That's a fool's errand! The waters are too unpredictable!"

Jack's bright mood didn't dampen in the least. "The funny thin' 'bout unpredictable is nothin' is ever unpredictable 'cause it's predictable in tha' it's unpredictable, savvy?"

Marty hollered again and this time Jack's face fell. "Ship ho! Port side!"

"Bugger."

* * *

The Black Pearl easily slid through the water but even so the two Oriental vessels caught speed and soon were just behind her.

"Jack!" Elizabeth shrieked. "They're coming up on both sides!"

"Move my ship, you pudgy sea scum!" He hollered.

Unfortunately, no more wind was to be cajoled from the sails and in moments, hooks and grapple lines flooded the Pearl's sides, lashing her to her enemies.

* * *

"Jack Sparrow. At last, we meet again. I have been looking forward to this day for many years." A man, heavily clad in leather armor, with long horrific scars etched down his face smiled grimly as he stepped in front of Jack and his subdued crew.

The aforementioned pirate was hunched forward and when the other man spoke he slowly looked up. "Sao Feng." He thrust his hands out uneasily. "Any particular reason for said anticipation?"

Elizabeth watched as the scarred man, now identified by Jack, strode forward and in a lightning fast move he rammed a fist squarely on Sparrow's nose.

"You have debt to pay."

Jack screwed up his face in pain and clasped his hand over his smarting nose, giving his voice a nasally tone, "What exactly would you be wanting?"

"I believe you owe me a map?"

"Do I?"

"One guarded by my father's spirit and buried in his remains?"

Jack looked as if he'd tasted poor rum. "Oh, that map." He paused and when he finally prepared to speak again his shoulders were tense with the promise of a new plan. "Maps are only so obliging, mate, perhaps what ye really be needin'-"

"I want those charts, Sparrow." Sao Feng growled.

Jack grimaced, a strange glint to his wily eyes. "Through a succession of undetected and utterly unprecedented state of affairs I find myself lock, stock, and barrel short of said charts."

Sao Feng pivoted slightly, one large, blemished hand stroking his head while his face twisted into a furious scowl. It looked as though he was a bomb whose fuse was rapidly being devoured by a fire of rage.

Elizabeth had been watching the exchange with increasing trepidation. She had faith in Jack, yes, but that faith was being siphoned away at each turn.

"Jack Sparrow," Sao Feng's tone was lethal. "You will tell me how you lose those charts or I kill de girl."

An icy muzzle found its way to Elizabeth's temple and she stiffened in response, though it was not out of trepidation but escalating frustration.

Jack feigned disinterest. "Who says I care about the girl?"

"Surely she is latest strumpet of yours."

Here, Elizabeth's temper reached boiling point. Batting away the hands holding her back and the pistol pressed to her skull, she stalked towards the pair, amber eyes snapping in indignation at the slight to her honor. "I am not his strumpet! I am no one's strumpet! I am Mrs. William Turner!"

Sao Feng, for the first time, regarded her fully. "Very well, then perhaps you wouldn't mind telling men how you come on ship, hmm?"

Elizabeth lifted to her full height and started hard at the oriental man, "I came here for my own reasons, none of which concern you."

"Strange how reasons become hidden when threatened but when in no danger they fly free from many mouths."

"And so, also, kind words hold little coercion when whispered behind a thicket of guns and blades."

"You have very intellectual head, Miss Turner."

"It's Mrs. Turner."

Sao Feng whirled back on Jack, fingering his weapon and a thoughtful glaze to his face. "I make you offer, Captain Sparrow."

"Aye?"

"You give me girl and I forgive your debt."

"W-what?" Elizabeth nearly choked.

"Done!" Jack smirked.

"Undone!" She shouted, practically seething. "Jack, I am not some bargaining tool you can use to insure your freedom!"

"We did agree that you would help me with a debt…well, love, this be it." Jack's smile was ever present but somehow it didn't contain the same confident aura.

"Jack!"

"Done." Jack held out a hand to the other pirate.

"Jack! Undone! What would Will say to this?" Elizabeth said her beloved's name clearly, hoping to knock some sense into her would-be betrayer.

"The bloody whelp isn't here therefore 'e doesn't have a say in said transaction."

"How can you live with yourself?!"

Jack's face squirmed as if he was trying to suppress a powerful emotion. "Sao Feng, you know I'd be more than relieved to get this…woman outta me hair," he paused, noting Elizabeth's glower, "figuratively speakin' of course "in consideration of your best interest…I'd be thinking that taking 'er would only bring you debacles and tragedy and lots of…calamityness." He finished with a wave of his hand then he came along side Sao, one slender finger raised in thought. "Tell me truly, is that what you really be wantin'?"

"What I be wanting is my charts."

"It seems that on my person I 'ave somethin' better than your charts, aye?"

"I could just kill you now."

"Correct, but then how would you know, which thing that is better than your charts that I have on my person that you don't know what it is but you want, what it is…and you'd find yourself wishing, 'oh, if only I had left someone alive so he could find that something'."

"What do you have, Sparrow?" Sao Feng actually appeared amused.

"This," with a flourish he lifted a small gold trimmed black box, "my compass."

"And why would I want another compass?"

"This may appear to you as a normal compass but in fact…it is anything but ordinarily ordinary." Jack grinned, gold teeth glinting in the sun and he continued as if speaking to a child, slowly and dramatically, "it points to what you want the most."

Sao Feng laughed huskily but it seemed as if he was forcing the mirthful sound and he really did believe what Jack was telling him. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because, mate, I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow, savvy?"

"That means nothing to me."

"Nothin' I own is customary."

"Fine, we shall test it."

"I knew we could agree on somethin'." Jack lifted his compass, walked over to Elizabeth and handed her the instrument. "Love, what you want most is to find your whelp, aye?"

"Of course."

With a theatrical air he threw back the compass lid then watched as the pin spun crazily in circles before halting, its head pointing Northwest.

"Now," Jack snatched the compass away and sauntered over to Gibbs, standing beside her. "Gibbs, you want rum."

"Aye, Cap'n, powerful bad." The portly man answered but a confused expression made itself known on his side-burned face.

"And rum is in Tortuga."

"Among other places…"

"But Tortuga is where you be wantin' to go."

"Uh, aye, Cap'n."

The compass was placed in Gibb's thick hands and the head twirled blithely before freezing dead on Southeast.

"Will that be testimony enough for your…lordship?" Jack turned his dark eyes on the oriental captain.

"I will take this compass you offer but if it does not lead me to what I desire I will never let you forget it."

"Then we have a pact?"

"Aye."

* * *

"Jack?" Elizabeth moved next to the pirate captain as she saw Sao Feng's ship disappear on the skyline.

The pirate turned to face her, a lazy expression on his face.

"Thank you…Will would be proud."

"Why would I care about the whelp an' what 'e thinks?"

"You care," Elizabeth's tender smile turned smug. "I know you do…and so does Will…you are practically brothers. And you know it."

Jack squirmed under her gaze. "How come ev'rybody's gone all philosophically bent?" He threw a hand into the air. "Next thing ya know Cotton's parrot 'ere will be tellin' me 'e wants rum!"

"Rum all around." The parrot chirped, blissfully unaware of the ranting captain.

"What did the parrot say?!"

"Wind in the sails!" There was a flutter of wings and the parrot disappeared in the voluminous black canvas above them.


End file.
